Grey Hearts & Flowers
by AshBax
Summary: Anticipating the birth of twins, Christian, Ana and the kids celebrate Valentine's Day and beyond. This is the next installment in my holiday themed stories. Phoebe and Teddy are 4 & 6. And Christian is Super Dad.
1. Chapter 1

"I found the love note in her bag," I say, pacing the floor at Flynn's office, recalling the scene that played out last night with Ana in our bedroom—the shock, the betrayal, the knife through my heart. "We were going to take a shower and she asked me to grab her a hair tie..." I run a sweaty palm through my mop. "I couldn't find one on her end table, so I reached into her purse to look and there it was—a damn declaration of love from some fucker named Michael G."

"Did you confront her about this?" Flynn asks, with his pen propped against his lip.

"Yes,..." I put my hands over my face. The pain too great. "She said she knew I'd go crazy, so she was trying to spare my feelings by hiding it. She tried to stop me from reading the thing, but I had to see with my own eyes." I hold my clasped fist to my lips.

"What did the note say?" He shifts in his chair, focusing intently on me.

"Bee Mine," I say, those two word seared in my brain until time's end. "The first word appropriately spelled like the insect it was from." I pick up my pacing. "And there was a little bumble bee fucker on the front of the card with his stinger sticking out and smiling at a flower with these big cartoon pop eyes like he was some kind of a garden rapist." Flynn hands me a little bean bag ball for me to squish out my rage. "How can they sell that kind of pornography at the Hallmark store?"

 _Squish, squish._

"And what's worse is that wasn't the end if it," I say, digging my fingernails into the squish. "There were four more stuffed down in her bag from others—a Timmy and a Sam and a JJ and some fucker who signed it Romeo, but I'm still not sure if that's really his name or just his intention."

"What did Ana say to all of this?"

"She said I shouldn't be so upset and I should expect it. That it was Valentine's Day." I squeeze the ball with both hands and nearly rip it in two. "But, who the hell expects their four-year-old daughter to get all those Valentine's cards?"

I look over to him—lost, afraid, my heart breaking—and I think he's fighting a smirk.

"So, Ana isn't alarmed?" he asks.

"No, she thinks it's normal and innocent. Cute even. But, what's innocent about a bee wanting to stick his thing into a full bloom flower?" Christ, what's going to happen when we actually have the birds and bees talk? All she'll think of is that horny one.

"Christian, I have to agree with Ana here."

"Of course you do. You always do. All of you mentally stable people stick together!"

"Phoebe's four years old. I don't think she's going to take up with any of these other four year old boys just yet." He laughs. Of course he mocks my pain while he charges by the minute.

"See there, you said it— just yet. Which implies that it may not be happening currently at the moment, but it's coming—like a tsunami. You think the water's all peaceful, then wham! Dad's guts are slammed against some rock and swept out to sea." I fist my hand around the ball. It's no longer a squish, it's a full blown squeezer. "First, it's cute little heart doilies with stickers and glitter, then it's "hey let's watch Netflix and chill while my parents are in Waikiki and we can lie to your father about it," and then, it's "Dad, I'm pregnant and I'm dropping out of high school."

I flop onto his couch and throw my head back, discarding the ball on the table. The fucking thing's not bringing me any relief. Only the cracked skull of Phoebe's future boyfriend would do that. We're quiet for a moment, which only leaves my thoughts to pound my head.

"I see this as a positive," he says, finally breaking the silence.

"Of course you would." He loves when things get my emotions all stirred up. If Flynn could come back as a kitchen appliance, he'd be a blender.

"I thought you of all people would see that your daughter's comfortability in social situations is remarkable. She's not afraid to be who she is and others respond to this."

"Yeah, others. Not boys! Boys are all perverts. I don't care how young they are or how sweet acting, all of them are perverts. Believe me, I know first hand about perverts."

Flynn shakes his head and writes something. Probably a prescription.

"What about Teddy? How's he doing?"

"He's the only one I'm not worried about, he's her brother. And thankfully he gives me no trouble when it comes to his love life." I sit up. "See that's the thing I don't understand, he never did all this nonsense when he was four. He played with blocks and and ate mud and rough-housed with his friends. Why is this pre-school class suddenly like Melrose Place? I think it's that teacher, Tilly. She's so wanting for a man all the time, that energy is shooting off of her and making everyone lovesick."

"Christian, I wouldn't worry about it too much. Children have a different concept of love and relationships at this age. They're just playing house."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?!"

He laughs.

"How's Ana?" he asks.

"She's wonderful. Glorious. A goddess..." I'm lost in that vision of her in the shower last night trying to take my mind off the cards with her mouth on my cock. "She's getting bigger by the day. You know, I think I've developed a pregnancy kink."

"Explain that." He puts his pen to his paper.

"I want to fuck her all the time."

"And this is different than usual?"

"Yes and no. I want to fuck her all the time, regardless, but it's really been a new and fun twist on things with her getting so big, so fast with the twins. I've always been really turned on when she's pregnant, but now she ignites me in ways I never could imagine. Her body is so round and womanly and hot. And knowing that I knocked her up twice at once—shit, that does things to a man." I shift to adjust the hardening situation in my pants before Flynn writes about it in his little folder. "And she's a nymphomaniac on top of it all. She can't get enough of me now that she's in her second trimester. Yesterday, I actually woke up with her riding me." God, that was a hot morning. Ana said she felt my morning wood and went for it. I was nearly coming before I even opened my eyes.

"Well, I'm glad you have such an appreciation of your wife's changing body." Appreciation?—more like obsession. "I think it also means you've come full circle. With each pregnancy you've seen motherhood as something to be celebrated as opposed to something to be feared."

"You know, it's funny. We were back at Escala last weekend, for second trimester reasons,..." I raise a brow and he gets my drift. "And I was looking at the Madonna and child paintings that are hanging there. I remembered how I used to stare at them for hours, in almost a trance-like state. Mostly after nightmares when I couldn't sleep. It comforted me on some level to see a mother caring for her child after just dreaming of my own leaving me."

"Go on," he says.

"Anyway, I noticed when I looked at them this time, they didn't give me comfort anymore; they didn't give me anything. They were just pictures and seeing Ana everyday with our children is real. And I think I want to take them down now."

"And why is that?" He leans back in his seat, watching me.

"I don't need them anymore."

I can see a smile start to cross Flynn's face.

"I want to sell them and give the money to help feed children. And I want to replace them with paintings of my family."

"I'd say that's a wonderful idea." He fully grins now.

"We have our appointment this week to find out the sex of the babies," I say.

"And how do you feel?"

"Excited. Nervous. I'm not sure, I just want them to healthy." I look up at him. "I'm going to be a father of four, can you fucking believe that?"

"Sometimes I think to myself I've been a good doctor, but then I realize it's Ana who's been the best therapy."

I smile. Yes, Ana is the best therapy. But, he still accepts the checks.

"I've got a special evening planned for Valentine's Day. She thinks we're just going to dinner, but I have a big surprise."

"I'm sure she'll love whatever you have up your sleeve."

"Well, if all goes according to plan, hopefully I won't be wearing any for long."

Yes, this Valentine's Day I'm planning to make both our dreams come true.

#######

"And I got four more Valentimes today!" Phoebe says, as we sit at the table at dinner. "This one's from Jagger." She holds up a card with a panting puppy dog that says: _You're Dog Gone Cute_. He called her cute?! How dare he comment on the appearance of my daughter! And what's with all these rapey looking cartoon creatures on the cards these days?

"His name is Jagger?" I ask, gritting my teeth, and she nods. Of course he's a womanizer, he's named after a damn flap-lipped rocker. I've gotta run new background checks. There are too many surprises popping up with these boys. But, I didn't think I had to check the backgrounds of four-year-olds! I think I'm going to talk to Ana about sending Phoebe to an all girl's school next year. Like one where the nearest boy is in another country.

"I have to make them all cards, too!" she says. "And ones for all my friends!"

"Why?"

"Because it's Valentime's Day!"

"Well, I wouldn't hold that card if I were you. I think I saw a big cooty crawling on it."

She immediately drops it and Ana gives me a kick in the shin under the table.

"Are you making these cards, too?" I ask Teddy, but he doesn't respond.

I look over and notice that Teddy is picking over his dinner. He's got a grimace on his face and I see his shirt doesn't have a speck of dirt on it. That's unusual. He wasn't outside this afternoon playing? Plus, he loves macaroni and cheese, just like his dad, and he's barely touched it. I hope he's not sick.

"Teddy, how was your day at school?" I ask, trying to engage him in conversation.

"Fine," he says, but fine doesn't sound so fine.

Ana gives me a look and I know she notices his mood, too. Teddy's never like this. He's always goofy and upbeat. He never broods like me.

"Phoebe, let's go start on your Valentine making in your room," Ana says, obviously making an excuse to give me some alone time with our son.

"Yay! I know all the glitters I want!" Phoebe says, hopping off her chair.

"Don't give your special glitters to any of those boys!" I shout out, but she's giggling and running to the stairs, with Ana right behind.

"Everything okay?" I ask Teddy. He nods, but just keeps moving his food around with a fork. "Come on Sport, talk to me. Did something happen at school?"

He shrugs. I know that shrug. I used to do it myself when I didn't want to commit to a _yes_ , but didn't want to lie. It was usually when I got into a brawl and was sent to the principal's office. I bet he got in trouble and doesn't want me to know.

"You know, if anything's wrong, you can tell me. I promise I won't be mad." I'm more upset that he's not eating his macaroni and he'll go to bed hungry.

"Dad..." He looks up and I'm ready for him to tell me that he punched his friend Fritzy Newton in the shoulder and had to write standards at his recess. I wouldn't really blame him; that kid's a disgrace. "Did you ever feel funny when you looked at a girl?"

Oh my god. What is he asking me?

"Funny, how?" I gulp and decide to take a sip of my water so at least my next gulp will be a productive one. I don't think I'm ready to have this conversation.

"It's not me. It's a friend." He cuts his eyes away. Yeah, that old story. Like I just so happened to be in the neighborhood when I walked into Clayton's. "He—my friend," he clarifies. "He says whenever he sees this girl he gets all fuzzy in his head and his belly feels weird and he can't talk right and he thinks maybe he's allergic to her and he might have to go to the doctor but he doesn't want a shot."

I clear my throat. "Um, well I'm not a doctor..." You can do this, Grey. "...But, from the symptoms you listed, I don't think he's suffering from an allergy."

"He's not?"

"Does it feel... sort of like butterflies in his belly?"

He nods.

"And he just wants to keep staring at this girl, because she's really pretty?"

He nods again.

"And he makes sure he combs his hair right and keeps his clothes clean so maybe she'll notice and say he looks nice and he can talk to her and hear her laugh?"

He nods again. "Yeah, that's it!"

"Well, good news. Nobody has to get a shot. I think that your friend... likes this girl." Funny, Flynn diagnosed me the same way.

"But, he can't 'cause girls are gross," he says, but it's more of a question than a statement. Like he's wrestling with the answer he's believed firmly all of his six long years.

"They're not all gross. I don't think your mother is gross. In fact..." I lean in to whisper as if it's a secret among men. "I like her, a lot."

"But she's a mommy, that's different!"

"She wasn't always a mommy. She was once a girl I saw and I felt all those things... and I knew I wanted to hold her hand." I wanted to do a lot of other things as well, but we'll stick with hand holding for this story.

"Did you make her a Valentine to tell her you liked her?" he asks.

"Yes..." Though, we were married and pregnant with him by the time our first Valentine's Day rolled along. "You know what girls really like?"

He shakes his head.

"Hearts and flowers," I say. "You always want to be a guy who gives a girl that."

"I don't got any monies for flowers and things," he looks up. "I mean my friend doesn't."

"You know, it's okay if you like someone."

"It is?" He scrunches his nose, all shy.

I nod.

"Yeah, maybe I might kinda like someone, too," he says and I'm surprised at how nice it feels that my son is confiding this in me.

"Do you want to tell me who she is?"

He shakes his head all shy. He looks lost, bewildered, excited and all around a mess. He has the same look I had that first time I felt love. But, I was twenty-seven and I married her. How the hell do you deal with it at six?

"Is she in your class?"

He twists his lips and then nods. "How do you tell a girl you don't think she's creepy and gross?" he asks.

"Well, I wouldn't use those words, for one..." Hell, how do you tell a girl you like her without making her sign an NDA? That's a tough one. "Why don't you make her a valentine?"

"I don't know how. Will you help me?"

"Of course." Shit. How do I make a valentine? I vaguely remember Grace tearing off those little cards and making me pass them out. I don't even think I licked my own envelopes, let alone do any arts and crafts. I do remember Elliot used to throw conversation hearts at my head. He'd laugh and tell me he was delivering the mail. "Tell you what, let's make a man's afternoon of it tomorrow. You can help me pick out your mom and sister's gifts, too."

"Thanks Dad!" He gets up to hug me.

"Anything, Champ."

"And Daddy, will you not tell Mommy?" he asks as he pulls away.

"You know I don't like keeping secrets from your mother."

"Please, Daddy. I don't want her to be all kiss-kiss goofy."

"Kiss-kiss goofy, huh?"

He shakes his head and wipes his face, as if he's imagining her covering him with kisses and thoroughly embarrassing him with questions about his newfound playground love.

"Don't tell nobody, please!" he says.

"Okay, for now it's our little secret." I look down at his dinner. "But, only if you finish all that macaroni on your plate."

He goes back to his seat and scarfs it down and his eating is a comfort to me.

I sit back in my chair. Shit, I better do my research for tomorrow. And when it comes to this Valentine's Day stuff, I'm not taking any chances. I'm going to consult an expert.

#######

"First you gotta lay out all your papers and your glitters so you know what you gots to work with," Phoebe says, all professional-like, pushing up her sweater sleeves, as we sit at the table in her room and she demonstrates how to make, as she puts it—"the most fanciest cards with the hearts for Valentime's Day." I'm not telling her about my research for Teddy, so we're making a special one for Ana.

She lays out an array of colored construction paper, doilies, and stickers on one side and about forty-seven little canisters of glitter on the other, most of them varying degrees of pink. She has feathers and bows and markers in more colors than God ever intended, but Crayola took to the bank. Martha Stewart's got nothing on Phoebe Grey. In fact, she may be calling because she wants her craft table back.

"Then you pick your colors," she says.

"Any advice?"

"You gotta feel the colors in your heart because it's a love card." She stretches out the word love so far, you'd think it was bubblegum.

"Good idea." Although, I'm rather annoyed thinking she's feeling colors in her heart for all these boys. I'm going to have to go over her cards before she hands them out. I don't want any overzealous glittering on her part to give any little cupids or their arrows any ideas.

Chester's sitting across from me dressed in a fuzzy magenta sweater, no pants and a side-cocked beret. He looks like he should be on the Seine painting a scene and hawking it off to unwitting tourists. Instead, he's trying to steal a piece of the macaroni she uses for decoration—and I think she swiped before Gail made dinner tonight—but his nose keeps getting caught in the tube.

"Did you dye his hair pink on top?" I ask, noticing his swirl puffing out on the right side from under his beret.

"Yeah. For Valentimes Day."

I feel for Chester. He looks like he either had his head dipped in strawberry ice cream or he's about to host the Hunger Games.

"Chester has a girlfriend," she says. "He's gotta look handsome like. So when they go on their Valentime's date she'll think he's the cutest."

"Chester's going on a date? With who?" This is news to me. Since when did he start dating?

"Henrietta, my friend Lucy's mini pig."

"Swine and ham-ster, huh?" She nods. There's a pair.

"She just broke up with a dirty rat to be with him."

"What did he do that was so dirty?"

She shrugs. "He was just a rat who liked to play in mud and he'd get Henrietta dirty when he crawled on her and Lucy'd have to wash her too much."

I shake my head. Even the preschool animals are love crazy. Well, we know Chester's clean. He spends enough time relaxing in that jacuzzi tub made for him in her doll house.

"Where's Chester taking this Henrietta?" I ask.

"He's gonna have a romantical dinner for her by Barbie's pool." She scrunches her nose. "But, he doesn't got any monies, so Chester asked me to ask you if you would buy Henrietta some food and a girlfriend present and maybe sunflowers."

"I have to buy romantic gifts for a pig that's supposed to be from a hamster so he can impress her?"

She nods. Jesus, the man who never did hearts and flowers is making and buying everyone and their hamster Valentine's gifts this year.

"I'll see what I can find," I say.

"Thank you, Daddy!" She hugs me and of course she has me wrapped around all her little fingers, toes and her princess tiara.

Chester, the unappreciative rodent he is, flashes his teeth when he thinks my hands are too close to his dried noodle.

Back to the task at hand, I look out over the choices of paper and pick a red one. Thinking of Ana and her boobs and belly bouncing on top of me later tonight definitely has me feeling that color in my heart and other places where my blood pumps.

"Now you gotta cut it into a heart," she says.

"Okay." I get out the scissors and freestyle it, but it comes out looking less like a heart and more like a red lemon.

"No, that's not a heart. You gotta cut more of a slit middle at the top." She points and I cut something in the middle, but it still doesn't look like a heart. It looks like an alligator took a bite out of the red lemon.

"You probably shoulda drawed it first," she says.

"Yeah, you're right." I look at it and shrug.

"But, we can make it good with the over things."

"What are the over things?"

"Decor-a-moritations."

What the heck?

"Decorations?" I ask.

She nods.

"Put on the lacy thing," Phoebe says, handing me a doily that's twice as big as my lemon. Oh well, it'll cover it up, so I go with it and glue it on. "The lacy thing makes it more married, too."

"Don't use any lacy things on yours to those boys!" I say, but she's too busy looking at her glitters to listen.

"And then you need the sparkles," she says, grabbing the glue bottle and squirting blobs of it all over my card.

"Hey, that's a lot of glue," I say as Elmer's overtakes my lacy lemon.

"You need a lotta sparkles." Finally she's satisfied with the glue situation and stops. "Maryann told me where sparkles come from."

"Oh yeah, where?" Maryann couldn't tell you where her lunch came from if it was delivered by Domino's.

"Pegasuses poop it out."

"Really?"

She nods, confirming that we're decorating with winged horse shit.

"If you're a purple Pegasus you poop out the purples glitters and if you're a pink one you get pinks," she says.

"Genetics, huh?"

"Yeah." She nods. "And the Blue Fairy collects them in the little jars and brings them into the stores to sell to pay for all of the houses in Fairy Land.

"I didn't know the Blue Fairy was such a capitalist," I say.

"Me, neithers."

Phoebe assesses her supplies and gets out four different shades of pink glitter and like a chef seasoning the special of the night, she shakes them all over the glue until the whole thing is covered, then takes her hand and smushes it down and smears it.

"Spread it around with your hand to make sure it's not all clumped up weird," she says.

This is quite disgusting, but I do as my teacher says and I put my fingers on the glue and make sure the glitter placement is to my liking. "

"What do we do now?" I ask.

"Now you gotta shake off the extra," she says and lifts the card and shakes it all over table. Of course, it's right next to my head, so the glitter flies all over my face and hair. I know I'm going to have pink glitter in parts unknown for weeks.

"Is it done?" I ask.

"No, you gotta write Mommy at the top and sign it: I love you from your Daddy." Actually, Mommy has called me Daddy on occasion, so it's fitting.

I do as she says and after Phoebe covers it with fuzzy monkey and elephant stickers and glues on some feathers, I have my finished product. The monkeys and elephants are fitting, since it looks like the circus threw up on my red lemon.

########

"Kate and Elliot are going to play Romeo and Juliet in the school Valentine's program?" I ask Ana as we're about to climb into bed. She's putting lotion on her hands and rubbing it up and down her arms and between her fingers. The up and down motion is the end of me, as I imagine those fingers wrapped around my cock. I notice her tits are really spilling out of her camisole right now. They're so big and I imagine the bursting forth with milk soon. Damn, I want to fuck them.

"Yeah, Kate volunteered them both." Ana says, moving to the dresser to pick something up. She has to bend over to do it and I can see her juicy, ripe ass undercarriage through the leg of her little shorts. "Here." She hands me a flyer.

" _Kupid'z Arrow,_ " I read as I get under the covers. " _Come one, come all and join the KIDZ in celebrating love through the ages._ " I look up. "Is this the play?"

"Yeah."

Oh god.

"And what do we have to do?" I can only imagine me playing some knight in shining armor with a stuffed bra boosted Tilly as my lady in waiting. Well she's no lady and if that's her plan, she'll be waiting forever.

"Punch and cookies," Ana says.

"Is that a new Disney couple?"

She laughs. "No, refreshments."

"Refreshments? As in we're serving the punch and cookies?"

She nods.

"That's it?"

She nods again.

"Let me get this straight, the school is doing a production about love and romance all through history for Valentine's Day, where people are coupled up, and Tilly hasn't even tried to swindle me into a role?" This seems too good to be true.

"I told them you'd probably want to skip this one, since you've been so active in the past holiday productions."

"And they actually listened?" Maybe Tilly finally got the hint when she stuck out her neck and asked me how she smelled last week and I told her the truth—like sweat.

"Well, I can't see Elliot being a Shakespearean actor." I can't see Elliot being a Dr. Seussian actor, let alone the Bard.

"It's Shakespeare for school kids." True, he does have the mind of a child. Maybe, it'll translate well.

Ana crawls into bed and as she props herself up with her pillows, her own pillows jiggle.

"Can I sneak off with you to the janitor's closet after the punch and cookies are served?" I ask, brushing her heaving breasts with my fingers. I'd like some punch and cookies of my own. Actually, I'll take milk with mine.

"You want to have your way with me at the school?" she asks, feigning outrage, but heaves her chest forward.

"I want to have my way everywhere in every way with you," I say, bringing my mouth to her neck and then to her chest.

"What did you and Teddy talk about?" she asks.

Oh shit, I'm sworn to secrecy. I don't want to lie...

"He just had a tough day at school," I say, and it's the truth. I continue my oral travels, pulling the strap to her camisole down and freeing her left breast.

"What happened?"

"Nothing bad. He just needed his father," I look up to her, her nipple brushing against my mouth.

"There's something your not telling me."

I can never keep anything from Ana. Those eyes always look right through me.

"It's nothing major. Just man talk." I suck on her nipple.

She scrunches and squints at me, and I know she knows there's more to the story, but she doesn't press it. And I think my attention on her hardening peak is distracting her.

"I love that, you know," she says.

"What? My mouth on your nipple?" I take it between my teeth and she groans.

"Well, that...is wonderful," she shivers with pleasure. "But, I meant I love that when he needs you, you're there for him."

"Of course I'm there for him when he needs me. For all my kids." I brush her belly and just feeling her motherly swell ignites me. "But, I also like to be there for Mommy when she needs me." I move my hand down the curve of her bump to the edge of her satin shorts and reach inside. "Do you need me, Mommy?" I stroke her.

"Yes," she bucks, as my hand moves inside her panties.

"Tell me," I whisper in her ear as I dip my fingers into her. She's already so wet. "What does Mommy need?"

"I need you," she says, tilting her chin up and moaning. "Mommy needs Daddy to fuck her—hard!"

"We aim to please, Mrs. Grey."

I can't wait for Valentine's Night.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thank you so much for your reviews and follows! Will also have updates on other stories soon xoxo_**

"Daddy, how do I be a man like you?" Teddy asks me as I shake pink glitter onto a construction paper heart on my office desk at GEH. I've brought him here so no one sees what we're up to. Ana thinks we're just man-bonding after Teddy's poor mood yesterday, but keeping this a secret from Taylor is like trying to keep the water you just drank a secret from your bladder. Teddy doesn't want anyone to know about his Valentine's crush, so I've sent Taylor out for more drop-offs and pick-ups today than UPS on December the 24th.

"Well," I say, as I mush my fingers into the glue, like Phoebe said, and spread the sparkle around. "I think being a real man is more about your attitude and confidence. The way you present yourself." I lift up my fingers, all covered with sticky glitter. I look like I just performed open heart surgery on Hello Kitty.

"Do you gots to wear itchy clothes to be a man?"

"Sometimes…" The best part of being a man is taking the itchy clothes off, but we'll save that conversation for another decade. Oh, I can't wait to get home tonight for Ana to scratch that wonderful itch.

"I want to be a man like you," he says, putting his own fingers into the glue and squishing.

"You make me so proud, son."

We both smile and squish around for a moment, until satisfied with color and placement. Two men covered in sparkles for love. If Elena could see me now I think she'd have a stroke, die, and come back again to have another stroke, just because the first stroke wasn't enough.

"So you still don't want to tell me who she is?" I ask as we glue on dried macaroni in a decorative pattern. Decorative pattern being wherever there's space for a tube and the glue will hold it and not scratch the recipient.

He shakes his head. Why is he so secretive about this? I'm trying to go through all the girls in his class in my head, but I can't put my finger on it. I wonder if it's that redhead Caroline or Carolyn? Maybe it's Carol Lynn. Whatever the case, he told me last week he won a playground contest of guessing the freckle count on her face. I'm not sure how they verified the outcome, but someone gave him gum for it.

"What's she look like?" Why is my macaroni sticking to my monkey sticker? Oh well, it kind of looks like he's holding a banana, either that or he's laying pipe. Although from another angle it looks lewd. I better move it. I don't want any monkeys stroking their bananas on this card.

"She's really pretty." The way he says pretty, I know he's got it bad.

"What makes her so pretty?" Although, I know that's a tough one. If someone asked me the same thing, all I could say is she's Ana.

"She's got blonde hair and blue eyes and smells like marshmallows."

"A blonde, huh?" He nods. Well, he didn't take after dear old dad in that department. Who's blonde in that class? Maybe it's that Jennifer girl; the one who always plays Fiddler on the Roof on the clarinet at every talent show because her father was an understudy in a regional tour and tries to relive the glory half-year through his daughter.

"And she's more taller than me," he says. That's interesting. He must be a legs man and he doesn't even know it yet. But, I don't think Jennifer is taller than him. Hmm…

"I think my card looks sorta goofy, Daddy," Teddy says as we finish, lifting the finished product up off the desk.

"I think it's a nice valentine," I say, trying to wipe my hands with a towel and handing it over to him to do the same. We've been at this thing for over an hour—cutting and pasting, glittering and glimmering it up, trying to get it just right. And though I followed Phoebe's instructions to the letter, somehow the letter of my instruction was less alphabetic and more question mark.

"It's so pink with all the glitters and lacy things." Teddy scrunches his nose. "It sort of looks like that Pepto-bigs-small stuff Mommy gives my tummy when it's sicky, if it was fancy dressed up for a party."

A Pepto party. Poetically correct.

"Trust me, girls love all that stuff."

"Why do girls like boys to give them their noodles on Valentine's Day, Daddy?"

"Who told you about giving girls the noodle?" I ask, shocked and ill prepared to discuss the full birds and bees or any pasta innuendos.

He points to his card. Oh, the dried macaroni decorations.

"I don't know, but they just do."

He stands from his seat across from me—the one Ana interviewed me in all those years before—and shakes the card a bit and pink glitter rains down, flying all over my office. It's appropriate considering there's been a pink cloud of fairy dust in here ever since Ana first walked in. Though, the next time the Taiwanese walk out of a meeting, their asses will sparkle. Hopefully they won't look back at it.

"She'll love it," I say. "Just sign your name with a little message at the bottom."

"Like what?"

Oh shit. What to say… Not _love_ , that's too much. Not _sincerely_ , too formal and no one will believe he knew how to spell it. _Your friend_?—no, no one gives their friend all this. But then again, he doesn't want to play all his cards with this one.

"I know—just say _Your valentine_ , your name, plus a smiley face."

He scrunches his nose. "Could you write it for me Daddy?"

"How come?"

"I may get the letters wrong."

I lean over and grab a marker. Whoever this girl's father is is going to match my writing up somehow and kill me. I've not only helped with the card, I signed the thing. If some guy did this for Phoebe I'd do the same.

I start to sign as Andrea buzzes and I pick up the line. "Make the happy face and sign your name," I say to him. "But, not too big, it'll overpower the card." Although, I think it would take an atom bomb to dim that shine.

"Excuse me, sir?" Andrea asks.

"Nothing. What is it?"

"Mr. Bouvier is here for you, Mr. Grey," she says. "And it looks like he's brought a forest."

"The florist brought florist?"

"No, he brought a _forest_!"

"A forest?" What the hell? He's so fucking weird. "Fine. Send him in."

Armando Bouvier, florist extraordinaire and pain in my azaleas. If he didn't know so much about flora, I'd throw him out for the fauna to give him the call of the wild.

"Mr. Christian!" he says, prancing in carrying his bucket of ideas. Not really a forest, just a few flowers. Andrea exaggerates so.

He moves toward me and I know what he wants—the double cheek kiss. I immediately step back.

"Oh, Mr. Christian, we're going to have so much fun today!"

Why does he always call me that? I told him when I first met him and he helped me pick out those white roses for Ana that we weren't friends. Seven years doesn't change that. In fact, it solidifies it.

"Mr. Bouvier," I say, emphasizing his last name and give him a nod. I notice he's wearing a jacket made entirely of white feathers. He looks like a duck. A trendy duck, but still a duck.

I spoke too soon about the forest…

Behind him some mute assistant rolls in a humongous cart of plants and topiaries and some tropical things that look like he picked them up at a swap meet in the rain forest. I half expect to see a tree frog jump out from the leaves and ribbit in revolt for ripping out his real estate. I look to the far end of the cart. Why the hell did he bring little apple trees with all this jungle shit?

"What is all this?" I ask.

"I wanted to show you a _Garden of Eden_ setup I was thinking about for you and your wife on your special holiday of love—" he raises a brow.

"Yes," I hold up a hand to shut him up quickly. "We'll talk about all those plans later." I don't want to get into petals covering our heart shaped bed, orchids floating in a jacuzzi tub and a blood red rose covered St. Andrew's cross in front of my son. And I definitely don't want to talk about my snake tempting Ana to sin with her apples. "We have another order of business now. This is my son Theodore, and he needs help with a valentine for a little friend of his."

"Oh?" He says it so high pitched and excited, he sounds like my mother did when I told her Ana was my girlfriend. "What can I do for you Mr. Theodore?"

"Umm,…" he looks down, all shy at his shoes. He's so nervous talking about this. I feel for him. "I gotta get her flowers too, Daddy?" He looks up.

"I told you, hearts and flowers—always."

"Oh yeah. I forgot." He thinks, a finger up his nose. Digging for boogers while digging for answers. "What should I get?" He wipes the gold rush on his pants and I get him the towel.

"I think he wants something sweet, friendly, not too committal," I say, ruffling his hair to tell him it's okay to be nervous and that I'm here for him. Hell, if I was a basket case at nearly twenty-eight, he gets a pass at six. And oddly, I recall that Mr. Bouvier has seen both father and son pick out their first flowers of love in this very office. I'd mention the momentous occasion, but I don't want to give Bouvier any excuse to celebrate. When he gets happy, I get hugged.

"How about the mixed wildflowers?" Bouvier asks, pulling out some weed looking items from his bucket.

"No, he'll look like a hippy," I say.

"What's a hippy, Daddy?"

"Somebody who likes to give out everything for free."

"Dr. Rear-end gives me free no taste suckers when I got no cavities."

"Trust me, nothing at Dr. Reardon's is free." I wouldn't be surprised to see those sugar-free lollies for ten bucks a pop on the itemized bill.

"Tulips?" Bouvier asks.

"It's Valentine's Day, not Easter!"

"Mums—"

"—the word. No."

"How about a contained bush of some sort. Very organic and very now for ladies concerned about the environment."

Contained bush? Isn't that true if I whack off a chunk of my front hedge and put it in a pot?

"My son is not giving a bush out. He wants little sweet flowers."

He closes his eyes, almost meditative. There's a long awkward pause…

"Is he asleep standing up, Daddy?" Teddy whispers.

"I think he's thinking," I say, although I'm not sure he does that.

"Miniature meadow's lark blush tea roses tied with a white ribbon!" he says, suddenly popping his eyes open as if divine providence just made the call.

Tea roses… They're small, sweet, not too romantic, but more than a friend would give you…

"That sounds nice. What do you say, Champ?"

"How about the apple tree?" he asks.

"No, son."

"But, he said you're giving Mommy one."

"Because apple trees are for mommies and daddies.."

"Can I give her an apple, then?"

"No, no fruit. Nobody wants fruit on Valentine's Day."

"How about ice cream?"

"Ice cream will melt. We can add some chocolates."

"Does chocolates make the ice cream melt less?"

"No, not chocolate in the ice cream. Chocolates on their own."

"Like those talkie hearts?"

"Those aren't chocolate."

"They could be if I mixed in M&M's and left them on my window in a baggy and the sun got them squishy and they'd mix."

I shake my head.

"No, I'd say more a pink velvet heart box with mixed truffles. Belgian preferably and stored at an appropriate temperature."

"Being a Valentine man is hard thinking, Daddy."

"Tell me about it."

Armando takes down the order on his iPhone. The case on that thing is so bedazzled, it makes our card look like it came from the Amish.

"Oh, and I also need sunflowers delivered to the house on the big day," I say.

He looks up from his phone, distressed, bewildered. Almost like I told him I talked to the family of ducks responsible for his jacket and they're coming to collect their feathers back.

"Wouldn't Mrs. Grey prefer roses?" he asks, acting like I've just offended him on some level with the sunflowers.

"They're not for Mrs. Grey. I have to buy them for a date with some pig."

"Oh, I see," he says, rather shocked, then looks to Teddy like he can't believe I've aired my filthy laundry in front of him.

"Not a pig of a woman, a pig of a pig." He looks at me, confused. "Actually, she's a small pig. Not barnyard-like." Still confused. "He's our hamster's girlfriend and he has a date with her on Valentine's Day and she wants sunflowers." Perpetual state of confusion.

"They're out of season," he says.

"Well, they're in season somewhere. Fly them in!" I can't believe I'm importing flowers for Chester's date. And I still have to get him a "romantical gift" for her. When did I become Chester's Taylor?

Finally, I tell Armando I'll call him about Ana's surprise later and he leaves.

"Are we done with Valentine's, Daddy?"

"Son, the first lesson you need to know as a man is—you're never done with Valentine's until you've been to Cartier."

#######

"Mr. Grey," Donald says as we arrive at my home away from home—Cartier. Donald knows me well. He should; I think Donald's paid off two mortgages and a vacation home because of me.

"Donald," I say. "This is my son."

"I'm Teddy," he says.

"Delightful! And what are you doing here today, young man?" He's so happy. I think it's because he sees a future generation of purchases.

"My dad's teaching me to be a man by taking me to buy your jewelry."

"There's no better way to be a man than that! And, your father is quite the man around here!" He's smiling so excitedly, an outsider might think he's after my body, but I know better; he's only after my wallet. He's always treated me well in the past, but when Ana came into the picture I became royalty. Of course, that did change the game for him. It went from some diamond earrings and a tennis bracelet now and again for the submissives to Crown Jewels on every holiday, anniversary, birthday, push present…

"How is Mrs. Grey?" he asks. Speaking of push presents…

"Wonderful…" I really want to get him salivating. "You know we found out she's having twins."

His eyes light up like a slot machine when three cherries drop.

"Oh, congratulations! That's wonderful! Double the fun, double the love, double the everything!"

"Double the gift giving…"

"Splendid!" I half expect him to start cart wheeling in the aisles. He's now secured a yacht in the south of France because of my shooting skills.

"I need to pick out something today for Mrs. Grey and for my daughter. And a little something nice for my mother and sister."

He nods.

"What about Auntie Kate?" Teddy asks.

Oh crap.

"Uncle Elliot gives her gifts."

Speaking of gifts of the swine persuasion…

"I also need a gift for my daughter's hamster's pig girlfriend."

"Of course!" he says. You know you spend a lot of money in a place when you tell them that and they don't even bat an eye.

"And Teddy here needs to pick out something small, but elegant for a little friend of his."

"I've just the thing," Donald says. Maybe I can introduce him to Armando and his coat. They could be Donald and the Duck: the quackers that meet all your Valentine's Day needs.

"We have an adorable selection of Valentine's inspired pendants," he says, reaching inside a drawer.

He pulls out a case of little jeweled charms—Be Mine, XOXO, Love…

"What's that one say?" Teddy asks, pointing to a pink studded one in the corner.

Donald pulls it out. "So sweet," he says. And it's made entirely of tiny pink diamonds.

"That's a nice one," I say. It's not too over-the-top romantic. Still childlike. Innocent. "How about it, Teddy?"

He nods.

"Wrap it up," I say.

"Sir, it's a steal at $1,550."

"Great." I'm sure the rest of this shopping trip they'll be stealing back from me.

########

"Thanks for helping me today," Teddy says as he eats a forkful of his pancakes. We've snuck over to the I-Hop. I figured a man's day deserved a man's dinner—pancakes, maple syrup and bacon. Although I notice this man's dinner is his mother's favorite. The first meal she cooked for me, probably the first real meal she cooked for him. We have both been mothered by her. And it warms me to notice that as we eat like men, he eats his pancakes just like his mother.

"Anytime, Sport," I say, eating a bite of my own. The I-Hop always holds good memories for me. And few places from my past do that. Wasn't it just yesterday I took Ana to that one in Georgia? God, things have changed since then. Who'd have thought then I'd be sitting here with our son?

"Even after the babies are born?" Teddy asks, and I'm a bit surprised.

"Of course. Why would that change?"

He shrugs. "You'll be busy with diapers and doody and stuff."

I can feel him kicking at the stand under the table. This is troubling him.

"Well yes, it'll be an adjustment, but that won't change you and me."

He looks down and I know he doesn't believe me. I know, because it's the same look away I gave Ana when she said having him wouldn't change the love she felt for me.

I lean in and take his chin, so his eyes face mine.

"Listen to me. No matter what, you're my son and I love you with all my heart. And nothing changes that." And as I say it, it's almost therapeutic to me. What I feel for him has no conditions. It's the same feeling I have for Phoebe and the babies and my Ana.

Ana was right.

"But, I don't get it. How can you love everybody you used to the same when there's more?"

"Trust me, I've learned a thing or two about more. And more means whatever love you have only grows."

I give him a kiss on the head and he smiles, though I can see him peek around to make sure no friends are lurking who can see this public display of affection.

"Nothing changes… You have my word," I say.

"Mine too, Daddy." He eats a piece of bacon.

"Plus, you're going to be the leader of the tribe," I say, ruffling his hair. "You're the oldest; the younger kids will look up to you."

"Phoebe doesn't. She hits me."

"Well, you two are a little closer in age, and Phoebe is Phoebe, but she needs you, too." I lean in. "One day you're going to help me fight off all her boyfriends."

"I already did."

"What?"

"My friend Fritzy said he thought she was funny and not that yucky so I pushed him in the dirt."

"Good job."

"Yeah… But he kinda likes dirt." He takes a forkful of pancake and covers it with syrup and then gobbles it down. "I promise I'll always try to make you proud, Dad."

"You already do, son. You already do."

"Daddy's home!" Phoebe says, running up to me as Teddy and I walk through the door. I pick her up and twirl her around and she giggles. "You were gone so long! I though you got lost."

"No, I will never lose my way home." I give her a kiss on the head. "I promise you that."

"There you two are!" Ana says, coming out from the great room and gives Teddy a hug. "It's late. Teddy, Phoebe— why don't you two run upstairs and have Mrs. Taylor get you ready for bed. Then we'll do story time."

"Yay! Daddy gets to read me _Eloise in Pears!_ " Phoebe skips toward the stairs and Teddy follows.

"It's Paris, not pears!" I say, but she's not listening. She's fighting with her brother for first place in the race up the stairs. I swear, one more read of that book and she'll be wanting a trip to Paris. Might not be such a bad idea…

I look over and Ana looks glorious. She's got her hair pinned up and she's wearing a lavender satin robe, where her bump is pushing against the fabric. Maybe she wants me to bathe her. I'd like nothing more than for her to sit against me naked in our tub as I wash her neck, her breasts, her belly…

I move to my wife, put two hands on her face and pull her in for a kiss.

"Where have you been?" Ana says, murmuring against my lips.

"Have you missed me?" I slide my hands down her face, her neck and then her shoulders, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric against her skin.

But, something's wrong. She stops kissing me. What's this? The last time she gave me dead lips was when she had a pregnancy craving and sent me out for ice cream and I got her chocolate chip instead of vanilla and she accused me of not loving her anymore. Her hormones were raging and she thought I wanted a new woman and this was some subconscious way of me telling her that vanilla wasn't enough for me anymore. It was three in the fucking morning! My eyes were practically closed when I picked it out! We weren't going to have sex with it, she was supposed to eat it! I finally convinced her that the ice cream was really like us—vanilla with some add-ons. Then we fucked three times and I got zero sleep. But, damn was it a dream.

Hesitant to break, I pull back and look at her. She's giving me that same suspicious eye.

"I told you, we just had a man's evening," I say, in response to the question I know she's asking in her mind.

"I know what you told me, but it's the something you haven't told me that I'm wondering about."

Jesus, I can't put anything past Ana. I wish I wasn't sworn to this secrecy by my son.

"Okay, I took him to the I-Hop," I say, and it's the truth. Plus, I know how she feels when he doesn't get vegetables on school nights.

"Why didn't you let Taylor drive you anywhere today? I'm sure it wasn't because you were trying to keep pancakes a secret from him."

What a fucking snitch! I knew he was all hurt and moody when I told him I'd take Teddy alone in the R8 and I didn't want to be followed by him. He acts like he's my right arm or something. Well, he is, but…

"Because it was a man's afternoon. And Taylor's not a man, he's Taylor."

She turns around and crosses her arms and huffs.

"Ana, do you really think I'm capable of cheating on you?"

"I don't know, I'm just so big now." Where's this talk coming from.

"You are a goddess," I say and move behind her, wrapping myself around her and holding to her belly. "Do you know how fucking hard you make me when you look like this?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I want you to feel." I push myself against her. My erection evident as it presses into her ass.

She moans a little and pushes back against me.

"I wanted to keep it a secret, but we picked out some Valentine's surprises for Phoebe, my mom and Mia… and for you." And Teddy's crush… We'll leave that one off the list. I pull her back into me, even closer.

"You did?" And I can feel her smile as I kiss her cheek and nuzzle her hair.

"Yes, but you'll have to be a good girl and wait until tomorrow night for all of your surprises."

"What if I don't want to be a good girl?"

Now I'm smiling.

Good, it sounds like the winds of her suspicions and hormones have changed and are blowing my way. God, I hope so. Nothing like Ana blowing to get my sails up.

"Well, you know what happens if you're a bad girl…" I run my hands down the sides of her hips and she squirms.

"Yes, Sir." Fuck me. She shimmies her full peach of an ass against me and my cock practically breaks through the two layers of our fabrics and impales her.

"But, I need to tell you something first." She turns around and faces me.

What the hell?

"What is it?"

"It's about the school play tomorrow…" she twists her mouth. Now who's holding something back?

"Yes… Did you and Gail work on the refreshments?"

"Yes, but when I looked on the sheet to see what we were both responsible for, I realized I had gotten the description of our jobs confused."

"What do you mean? No punch and cookies?"

"No, punch and cookies are definitely my responsibility..."

"And?"

"And, they aren't really yours..."

"What are you saying? Just spit it out."

"Well, when I looked on the sheet again to see what was next to your name, all is said was _Ham_."

"Ham? They want me to bring ham as a refreshment?" That's fucking weird. "Well, don't worry, we don't have to cook one on the fly. I'm sure we can pick one up."

"No, they don't want you to bring the ham." She looks up at me. "They want you to be the ham."

Be the ham?

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You know how Kate and Elliot are playing _Romeo and Juliet_ in the _Classic Love Through the Ages_ act?"

"Yeah…"

"There's another part of the show about food couples."

"Food couples? What are food couples?" are they like _foodies_? This school gets weirder and weirder by the day.

"Foods that have been paired together, traditionally, throughout time. It's quite cute really. There's _Peas and Carrots, Peanut Butter and Jelly_ …" she looks up at me and scrunches her nose like she knows what I'm about to hear won't be pretty. " _Ham and Cheese._ "

Ham and Cheese?

Ham.

Oh fuck.

"You're not saying—"

"I'm afraid I am…"

"They want me to play a ham on stage?!"

She nods.

"Who's the cheese—on no! Don't tell me. I already know."

She nods again.

"Tilly."

A final nod like the final nail in my coffin. Or should I say to-go box?

"No, Ana! I'm not going to pork around on stage with that Tilly-mook cheddar."

She laughs a little. She thinks Tilly's obsession with me is hysterical!

"You think this is funny?"

"Well…"

"It's not funny having a stalker."

"It is when he's standing in front of you like this."

"Funny, haha… No, no way, Ana!"

"Christian, you have to. It's too late to get anyone else."

"Of course it is. Don't you see? That's the way she planned it! That's how she tries to nab men. The only way they'll spend time with her is if they don't know who she is first!"

"Please, Christian. It's for the kids."

"Why can't Taylor be a ham? He'd be good at it."

"Taylor already has a role."

"As what?"

"He's Peas."

"How the hell did I not know about this?"

"Because you wouldn't let him drive you today." She glares a little. I don't want to open up that bucket of bait.

"Well, I'll be Peas and he can be Ham."

"You will not be Peas! Over my dead body!"

Jesus, where'd that come from?

"Why not?"

"Luciana Arroyo is Carrots."

"Luciana A-what-what?"

Ana holds her hands out like watermelons over her breasts. Oh yeah, that mom who just came here from Colombia who never wears a bra.

"Why doesn't Gail have a problem?"

"Because Luciana doesn't thrust her chest in Taylor's face every time she sees him."

"She doesn't thrust her chest at me. It's just…out all the time naturally." Or not naturally, more like it. I think she came from Columbia by way of the _Silicone_ Valley.

"Besides that, you'd hurt Tilly's feelings if you purposely traded not to be with her."

"So, maybe she'd finally take a hint!"

"Christian, let's not cause a scene."

"Exactly, I don't want the scene to happen at all, so let's not cause it to!"

"Christian—"

"No! No way, no how am I coupling with that dreadful woman as some barnyard breakfast romance!"

"But, then you won't be in the show at all."

"Fine, I'll watch from the audience. I'll take pictures and clap for the kids. Hell, I'll even clap for my brother and Kavanagh. But, there's no way I'm changing my mind about sharing that stage with Tilly."

"Daddy, Daddy!" Phoebe and Teddy come running down the stairs in their pajamas.

"I'm so excited for Valentime's tomorrow!" Phoebe says, holding my leg and jumping up and down on my foot.

I pick her up.

"Yeah, me too," Teddy smiles and gives me and wink. I wink back and I don't think Ana saw.

"I can't wait for the show at school!" Phoebe says. "I get to wear wings like an angel and run all over the stage sticking the people's love parts with love arrows."

"You're Cupid?" I ask. Love parts?!

She nods. "Me and Dukey Nutweiler. He's the boy Cupid and I'm the girl."

More of this couples through the ages shit… how many damn boys are at this school?!

"Who's Dukey Nutweiler?"

"Maybe my valentime, I don't know, yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Well… I tolded him I'd tell him after the show. He's gotta be good at actoring before I give him my heart on heart day. And I said he'd have to chase me and get me with his arrow."

Oh. My. God.

She's going to be running all over the stage with this kid playing Cupid games? That's even more serious than reindeer games. Shit, I need to keep an eye on this situation and prevent their valentine from happening. And I can't prevent cupid's arrow from flying from the audience.

"Hey Ana—"

"What?"

"Where's the script? I need to go over my lines."

And just like that—a Ham was born.

 **To be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you for all your sweet notes and reviews and also your patience. Love you guys!**_

 _ **Oh, and for the reader who asked if Christian being a ham is an ode to Harper Lee, good eye! It wasn't originally my intention, but with her death it is fitting.**_

 _ **And someone also asked how old Christian and Ana are here. It follows the original book, so Ana is 29 and Christian is 35. The kids are 6 and 4.**_

 _ **And more to come with the Chester/Henrietta date and Ana and Christian's romantic night.**_

 ** _Enjoy! xoxo_**

"Why do I have to wear a girly pink tie?" Teddy asks as I perfect his Windsor knot outside the preschool class just before we enter the festivities—ham and son.

"It's Valentine's Day," I say. I can barely bend over in this fucking pink rubber monstrosity they've got me in. I look like a gigantic whoopee cushion, only if I was, at least I could let the hot air out. "And girls like a man in a suit. Now, comb your hair like I taught you."

He nods and takes the comb I gave him out of his inside jacket pocket and slicks his hair back tight on the sides. I step away and take a look. That Armani suit is really something. He looks exactly like a little me. Well, if I didn't have pineapple rings adhered to various parts of my poor man's prosciutto.

"Do you think I shoulda shaved?" Teddy asks.

"No, I think you're just clear of a five o'clock shadow."

"But, it's not even lunchtime," he says, seemingly horrified at what might happen to his facial follicles by dinner.

"Don't worry, you look great," I say. "Now, do you have your Valentine's presents?"

He nods and picks up his backpack. It looks like he's armed with explosives carrying that thing. Poetically, maybe he is. I pray to God this girl doesn't break his heart.

"You know what you're going to say?"

"Would you…" He looks up at the ceiling like he's thinking. "Would you be my valentine 'cause I bought you stuff if you be it."

"Don't say the "bought you stuff" part. Just ask her to be your valentine." Ana would've smacked me upside the head if I ever used that line. Actually, if you replace _submissive_ with _valentine_ , I kind of did.

"Okay, you ready?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, with a bit of trepidation, adjusting his collar and wiping his brow with his own monogrammed handkerchief that Gail has of course provided. Like father like son.

He looks up at me. "Dad, if the butterflies in my tummy get too many, can they explode and make me dead?"

"No. You're a Grey man," I say. "You can do this. Besides, butterflies aren't a bad thing. In fact, if I get them before a big meeting I tell them, "troops, help me out here," and they usually help me land the deal."

"You talk to the bugs in your tummy and they help you with your big work?" he asks, amazed.

"Often better than the sheep I employ." I laugh. "Or the snakes."

"You got a lot of animals at work," Teddy says.

"Tell me about it." I laugh. "It's a jungle out there."

I open the door and lead him through. It's a jungle in here.

We walk into what I'd imagine you'd get if Mr. Roger's Neighborhood and the Hallmark store had a rave. The place is wall-to-wall populated by school children high on cupcake frosting and glitter carded love passing out hugs and conversation candies to each other like it's the common cold. They're probably passing that around, too. I swear there's so much hearts and flowers action going on around here it would've made twenty-seven-year-old me run for my life. Since when did Kreative Kidz become Tindr for the Kinder set?

"Okay son," I say. "Do you see her?"

"She's in the yard by the teeter-totter until five minutes before recess is over."

"Every day?"

He nods." She watches us play there."

"She doesn't play herself?"

"Not really. She has to keep her dresses clean and make sure we don't do stupid stuff."

This is really weird. Although, she sounds like me at that age, just sitting and watching at recess. Maybe she has control issues or OCD or something. Geez, I hope she's not a junior miss nut job.

"Okay. Well, I think now is your opportunity." I look at my watch. "Only two minutes before she leaves her part of the totter. You'd better hurry! Remember, confidence."

He nods and takes off. And I realize what a milestone this is. I've just sent my son off to see about a girl. I'm still not sure what girl and since he's taken off to the play yard I disappointedly can't see the exchange. But, I'm so proud of my boy.

Speaking of boys seeing about girls, I look around for that little fucker Dukey Nutweiler. I haven't seen him yet. Ana's taken Phoebe to get ready for the show with Kate and Ava, and though she rolled her eyes at my worry, she agreed to inform me if there was a snot nosed Dukey sighting. As soon as I see him with that arrow headed for Phoebe, he's going down.

"I'm gonna kiss Jennifer and Jillian and Sierra…" some little shit dressed as a marshmallow, I suppose for the hot cocoa number in the play, says as he knocks on my ham.

"Do you know Phoebe?" I ask.

He nods. "She hits me when I mess with her ponies." Best news I've heard all day.

"You're not gonna kiss her."

"Why not?"

"Because if you do her father will blow up all your video games."

"How will he do that?" he asks, scrunching his face.

"He's Darth Vader."

"Really?" His eyes get wider than the galaxy far far away.

"Yes. And get the word out."

He runs off and I think tells one of his cocoa mug contingency.

"Are you a heart?" Elliot asks me as he approaches dressed as fucking Romeo.

"A heart?" I ask. I'm barely able to hear or move in this thing they have me in. "How the fuck do I look like a heart?"

"Not like a love heart, a real heart," he says. "You know, like the one you don't have." He laughs.

"No, I'm not a heart, I'm a ham."

"I never thought you liked attention." He's really laughing at me now. Fucker.

"Not a stage ham, a real ham."

"Well, you're about to take the stage as one, so technically you're both." My brother finds it fucking hysterical. I'm surprised his humor hasn't delved to toilet level to the point of heart-on jokes.

"What do you think these pineapple rings are?" I ask, pointing to my chest.

"I thought that was like cholesterol deposits." He laughs again.

"I wouldn't be laughing, you're wearing pink tights."

"That's burgundy, man," he says, seriously all of a sudden.

"Congratulations." His leg hair is sticking through. It's quite disgusting. Maybe I should've called Franco to wax him down.

"Hey bro, when the women are lookin' for lovin' they think gimme that Romeo. They don't think gimme that ham."

Wisdom for the ages.

"Well, good thing I'm not interested in any looking."

"Tell me you're not looking at that." Elliot raises a brow and nods in the direction of a college aged girl in a short skirt who passes by us.

"I'm not." I adjust the meat that's scratching my balls. Damn this thing is hotter and tighter inside on my cock than a gas station condom in the middle of a Louisiana summer.

She swishes by and starts adjusting Harry Diamonte's peanut butter sandwich ensemble in the distance. Harry, that moron. He's a low brow lawyer that advertises on TV to attract class action suits. He gives group discounts if he gets twelve or more jokes trying to sue, calling it the "Diamonte Diamond a Dozen" rate. And he argues about everything—politics, religion, if the weather's going to change. He actually argued that being a sandwich instead of just a jar of peanut butter was a better message to send out to the kids because it inferred that the peanut butter had made something of himself and isn't just sitting on the shelf waiting for life to happen. This guy has serious issues that go well beyond his nut butter.

"You're telling me back in the day you wouldn't have hit that?"

"Yes." I roll my eyes. "Don't you have a wife?" I ask, looking around for Juliet herself in the form of Satan.

"Bro, loosen up, a man can appreciate the goods of opposing supermarkets without buying the cans." Elliot is such a cad. He keeps watching as she swishes her ass over to Jelly. Jelly being an eighty-five-year-old great grandma who always insists on taking part in these shows because, as she puts it, she missed her calling for the stage. I didn't see Harry making that argument about Grandma Jenkins remaining in her jelly jar on a shelf for her whole life. Sexist pig.

"Well, appreciate your blue light special another time, your wife and mine are coming this way with our children." Honestly, you can take the whore out of the man, but you can't take the man out of the whore.

"Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo," Kate says, on approach. Oh lord. Kate reciting Shakespeare is like Boone singing Sinatra with a chest cold.

"Hear Ye, Hear Ye, I'm right here for the taking, babe." He pulls her in for a kiss and the kids giggle. Oh, Mr. Fucking Romantic! He's eyeing some bimbo and I'm old faithful stuck in a ham suit.

"Christian, you look so real!" Ana says, coming up to me.

"Yes, the authenticity of pigs in this place is astounding." I motion to Elliot and Kate and she swats at my pork shoulder. I'm just glad it wasn't my pork loin. "Why aren't we Romeo and Juliet?" I whisper to her and try to nibble at her ear, but there's something thick and hard in my way and it isn't the usual thing.

"Well, for one thing I'm pregnant."

"So? They're in love and so are we." I touch her belly.

"She was thirteen."

"How old was Romeo?"

"I think he was like eighteen or twenty."

"That's disgusting. If I was her father I'd kill him before he killed himself and sent her to the convent."

Speaking of daughters I'd slay for and am seriously considering life for as a nun…"

"Daddy, Daddy," Phoebe says, dressed as the most adorable little cherub I've ever seen. Of course she's the most adorable angel I've ever seen, so it's fitting.

"You look beautiful," I say, and she pretends to stick me with her foam arrow. "You got me!"

"Now you'll fall in love with the first one you see," she says.

"Don't look at me, bro," Elliot says, on a break from sucking face with Kavanagh.

"Or me," Kavanagh snarks.

"Trust me," I say.

Of course I look straight at Ana and lean over, as best I can, and give her a sweet kiss.

"It worked!" Phoebe squeals, jumping up and down.

"I want peoples to fall in love with me, too!" Ava says and pulls out a clump of Phoebe's arrows and starts chucking them at unwitting boys. Just like her mother.

I lean in to kiss Ana again, but we're both sidetracked by something jolly, green and giant coming our way.

"Oh my word," Ana says.

"Taylor," I say. "You look…"

"Green, sir," he says, stopping before us. He's supposed to be peas in a pod, but instead he looks like bubbling disease in a boat-like contraption. Sea sickness, now that's funny.

One of his globular things bumps up against me and I notice he's left green markings all over my right side. Great, I'm old ham now.

"The costume is perfect," Gail says, walking up to him and gives her man a kiss on a cheek the color of stomach upset.

"Yes, I really do feel like a vegetable," he says.

"Tay-Looooor!" a purring tongue calls from the distance.

"Oh no," Taylor mumbles and goes stone still.

"Who's that?" Gail asks, but Taylor isn't given time to answer before the purring tongue is calling his name again.

Luciana Arroyo, or what Elliot has nicknamed her, _Ta Ta Tammy,_ coming for us dressed as carrots. Or rather, she's wearing a skin tight orange body suit with a green stem hat. Why does she get to dress like she's visiting the playboy mansion and I look like I was rejected from the butcher bargains bin?

"I think we need to practice our lines, Mis-terrrr Yason," Luciana says with that Columbian accent of hers and grabs Taylor's arm to take him away.

I've never seen it before, but Gail's face is so red it could boil her fusilli.

"I think I'm good," Taylor says, shifting away from Nympho Carrot.

"No, no! I need to practice with you, Yason. I need to get my parts right."

She pulls him away as he mouths sorry to Gail.

"Why the nerve!" Gail says and starts to lunge for Luciana, but Ana holds her back.

"The play is about to start soon. Why don't we take care of the refreshments?" Ana asks and pulls a not happy Gail along. Maybe she can distract her with food service. It usually works.

"Oh Christian!" my mother says as she, my father, Mia, and my grandparents exit the elevator and walk toward me. "I love seeing you in costume." She puts her arms around my hock. "I always prayed for this day."

"For me to be a ham?" I ask.

She pulls back and looks me earnestly in the eyes. "For you to be a ham for your family." Has she been drinking? If so, maybe she'll share.

"You've been in so many of these plays, son, we thought you were considering a career change," my father laughs.

"No, I won't quit my day job, Dad." Billions for skee ball tickets isn't my style.

"I was a duck when I was little!" Mia says, clapping excitedly.

"No Mia," I say, "That was Swan Lake."

"Oh yeah!"

"Where's my seat? I've been walking for ten minutes. My ass needs a rest! The gravitational pull on my balls is gonna render me useless," my grandfather says, far too loudly.

"Oh quiet, you old goat!" my grandmother says. "You've been useless down there for years!"

"That's not what you said last night!"

"Mom, Dad!" Grace scolds, mortified.

"Hey, family!" Ray says coming up behind us and everyone says their hellos. He cuts his eyes to me. "Are you an eraser, Christian?"

"A ham."

"I didn't know hams were a Valentine's Day thing."

"They're big at this school."

I notice quite happily that he's alone. For once in my life Jose and his father aren't tagging along with Ray. This is the best news ever!

"Hey, we made it!" Speak of the fucking devil, Jose. "We were just parking the car."

Let me guess—his grandmother's best fourth hand jalopy.

"Jose," I grumble. "It wouldn't be a holiday without you."

"I know, right?" What an idiot.

"Uncle Jose!" Phoebe and Ava yell as they run up to him like he was candy bars for breakfast.

"I always gotta be here for my family." His family?! Why are my parents nodding and smiling in agreement? How has he infiltrated my whole damn life?

"You're like a brother!" Mia says and hugs him.

"And another son," my mother says.

What the fuck?!

"Jose doesn't want your germs, he has his own," I say as I pull Mia away.

"Oh I get it! You're like chewed bubble gum!" Jose says, looking me up and down like he just hit the jackpot with his lottery winning guess.

"I'm a ham!"

"That pig shit ruined my father," Jose Sr grimaces and rattles off some indeterminable Spanish. I have no idea what the fuck he is saying. Status quo.

"Sorry to hear that," I say and he nods.

"Dad and I brought some flowers for the ladies," Jose says and old man Rodriguez pulls out his golden anniversary auto club duffel bag—probably a gift from his mother's mother, lord knows she needs auto assistance with those death traps she collects— and hands some wildflowers to my mother, sister, grandmother and the girls. I'm not sure, but they could just be some fancy looking weeds. The kind that look like flowers until you remember they just popped up in the middle of some dog shit on a patch of grass after a hard rain.

The women _ooh_ and _ahh_. What's there to fucking get so excited about?

"Is this drugs?" my grandmother asks and I have to wonder myself if he didn't slip in some of his favorite pastime.

"No mother," Grace says. "They're exquisite flowers." Exquisite? I bought her lilies!

"Did you grow them yourself?" I ask Jose.

"Nah, I picked them in nature while I was shooting impromptu portraits," he says. Yeah, that's code for picked them off the lawn of a friend who he shot some intoxicated selfies with for Instagram.

"Ooh, that's so exotic," Mia says.

"They're simple flowers, Mia. Ana and I have them all over our property."

"Where is Ana?" Jose asks, craning his neck to look around.

"Busy," I say.

"I wanted to wish her a happy Valentine's Day."

"I'll tell her." Never.

"I also wanted to talk to her about her "with children" pictures."

"Excuse me?" He's trying with this shit again? He's done this twice before during her pregnancies and twice before I nearly slammed his head into my driveway with my car tire. Why can't he get that I don't want him taking nude photos of my pregnant wife?

"Since it's twins, you'll want to really document it this time."

"Yes, _I'll_ want to and _I_ will. Me."

"Cool! Glad you agree! I'll talk to her. Maybe we could do it next week when you're at work so we won't bother you."

I'm about to bother the fuck out of his craning neck with my circling hands, but my arms can't move out that far in this shit.

"My ass!" my grandfather yells.

"Okay, Dad," Grace rushes him away and the rest of them all go to find their seats. I keep an eye out to make sure Ana isn't handed one of those weed bouquets. I realize I've just spent enough to buy an island at Cartier for her Valentine's Day and it's ridiculous to be threatened by lawn blooms, but fuck if anyone else is going to give Ana hearts or flowers but me—ever.

I see Kate and Elliot are running lines in the corner like they're about to put on some tongue-in-throat number. It's a disgrace. Oh, I wish Ana and I were doing that.

"Dad!" Teddy says, upon return.

"Hey, what happened?" I pull him aside. "Did you give her your gifts?"

He shakes his head. "I got too nervous and by the time I got done talking to the butterflies in my tummy, she got busy with play stuff."

"That's okay. You can do it in a little bit."

"Can you do it?"

"What?"

"Please."

"Son, this is your big moment."

"I know, but I think I need a delivery man to do it right."

I'm conflicted, on the one hand I want to teach Teddy to be a man, but on the other hand he's still just a little boy. And I know first hand how nervous you get giving flowers. Even at twenty-eight I recognized the importance of a delivery man.

"Okay, but you'll have to talk to her once she opens everything."

"Thanks, Dad!" He tries to hug me, but I'm so wide, his arms just shoot out straight in a T shape.

"Anytime, Champ." I smile.

"Hey Teddy!" his buddy Fritzy says, out of breath, as he runs up. This kid. "You gots to come see. Richie says he farted in sandwich bags and gave them to all the girls and told them he caught chocolate chip cookie air when his mom baked cookies, but he didn't and now they're gonna open them and smell his farts!"

What the hell? This is an event?

"Cool!" Teddy says.

They run off, leaving me with the backpack of valentines. Fuck, how am I supposed to deliver this stuff, nonchalant, dressed like I am? I swear, I hope her father is not here. He gets one looks at me and I'll be lucky if I'm lunch meat. Wait, how do I even know who this girl is?

I move to a secluded corner and start to take out the contents of the bag. He had me write a name on the card last night: Miss Bentley. I pressed him for her first name, but that's all he would give me and he begged me not to look her up, so I kept my word. It's cute. Kind of formal, but cute. I did tell him to address her properly. And it goes, since I guess I got distracted when I wrote the valentine for him yesterday at work and signed it as Mr. Grey. But hell, how do I find a little girl around here only by her last name without looking incredibly perverse and weird?

"What's that?" It's Ana! Shit.

I turn around to see her standing in front of me, looking at me with my hands all over the glittery valentine.

"Uhh… Nothing." I stuff the valentine back in the bag and hope she hasn't noticed.

"Well, nothing has left pink glitter all over your fingers."

Damnit. Caught glitter handed.

"Uhh… It's a surprise for later."

"What kind of surprise?"

"Trust me, it's nothing you'll ever guess."

"Is that part of my Valentine's gift?"she tries to sneak a better peek, but I hold it down and away.

"Could be…" The card I made with Phoebe looks similar. She'll never know the difference. I hope. "But, it won't be if you keep peeking."

She smiles and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

"What was that for?"

"For being so sweet."

"Charm won't get you anywhere."

"Oh yeah?" She puts her hands on my waist.

"Except maybe places below there."

She laughs.

"Ana, please. Eyes off my package." Never thought I'd utter those words.

"Okay," she smiles and gives me a wink. "I can't wait until later." She bites her lip, teasing me, as she walks away.

Fuck. Now I have an erection. This is the one moment I'm thankful for this plastic hell I'm living in.

That was close. There is no way I can be seen delivering this stuff. I'm too much of a spectacle as it is. What am I going to do?

Speaking of spectacles...

"Taylor!" I say, when I see the green peas giant himself at the punch bowl in the distance, downing the stuff like it's a quadruple shot of whiskey.

"Hello, sir," he says as I approach. He looks so frazzled and mixed up he could well be a ladle of split pea soup that accidentally got stuck in the minestrone.

"What's wrong?"

"Rehearsals," he says as way of explanation. Oh right, Luciana.

"Trust me, I get it." I look around to make sure no nosey moms or Tarantula Tilly are in earshot. "Listen, I have a task for you." I pull him behind the felt art boards. "I need you to take this…" I lift Teddy's valentines from the open backpack. "And I need you to deliver it to the name on the card. Don't ask any questions, just do it."

I place the stuff in his hands and he gives me an odd look.

"And don't make a big spectacle of yourself. Make it as secret and seamless as possible. I can't get caught."

"Yes, sir."He walks off to perform his duties.

Shit, I hope this goes smoothly.

Someone is blowing the kazoo that alerts everyone that showtime is near. It sounds more like we're in the middle of a duck hunt. Where is my counterpart anyway? She's been missing. It's not like her not to use every opportunity to breath down my neck with her halitosis issues. And just as I think it, I know I spoke too soon.

I turn to see the biggest, whitest egg coming my way. And it's not a costume, it's just Tilly. In fact, she's not dressed as eggs at all. She's wearing some sexy-ish (heavy on the ish) lady devil get-up.

"I'm ready for you," she says, and for a moment, as she shakes her hell-tail my way, I wonder if I have indeed suffocated in my costume and am meeting the devil, herself.

"You're supposed to be eggs!"I say. Jesus, she acts like it's hubba hubba happy hour on a hot Saturday night on the boulevard.

"I am! I'm deviled eggs." She points to two fried eggs with extremely large yolks stuck near her breast area. Although, on Tilly the breast area is closer to her navel than to her chest and two feet out. Whatever the case, the whole thing is quite obscene.

"Where'd you get those eggs—the dinosaurs?"

She laughs. I don't.

"You look scrumptious," she says and licks her chops. I think it's partially lusting for me and partially because there's a ham in front of her and salivating over pork is an involuntary reaction for Tilly.

"We've been coupled in so many of these things, it's kind of like I'm your other wife."

"Uh, no."

"We're a good match-up."

"For what, wrestling?"

"You kidder!" She laughs and everything south of that turkey neck jiggles. Oh god, she's pushing her chest out. I fear a quick movement and a concussion.

"Miss Tilly," some little boy pulls on her demon tail, rescuing me from the earthquake happening in her cellulite. "I just farted and I don't think only air came out."

"Oh dear," Tilly says. "Let's get your mother." She pulls him away.

Saved by the fart.

"Lovers!" some old lady says over a muffled loud speaker. It sounds like she's dead and trying to reach out from the other side. Should she really be calling us lovers in front of the preschool class? "It's now time to go through the time machine of love and experience romance through the Agezzzzz."

The lights go off and some kid in the back cries. Then, they start playing Adele as the curtain rises.

Couples from history take the stage—Robin Hood and Maid Marion; Antony and Cleopatra; and of course our own Romeo and Juliet.

Elliot is waving to the audience like he's been named Beauty School Dropout.

Why the fuck are they playing Adele?

Taylor passes right in front of me without even an acknowledgement in my direction. Odd.

"Taylor," I whisper shout. He stops, but doesn't look back. Is he trying to avoid me? "Taylor!"

I can see him clenching his fists, almost as if he's trying to steady himself before he faces me. What's his deal? I guess Luciana is really getting under his skin.

"Yes, sir?" he grits his teeth and spits his words after he finally turns to me. He's never spit a "sir" before. He's been so odd these past few days, just because I haven't let him in on my, or rather Teddy's secret. It's like if he's not all up my ass he just isn't happy with life.

"Well, did you do it?" I ask.

"Yes sir, I did." The hostility in his voice is palpable.

"And?" I don't care about his co-star problems, I want to know about this girl.

"I now know what you've been up to, Mr. Grey." Oh shit, that's ominous. He's bitter I didn't tell him.

"Listen, this all hit me quite suddenly," I say, trying to brush it off.

"Did it now?" He won't even look at me.

"Yes, like two days ago. I was back and forth about it at first, but then I figured what the hell, let's go for it. And it's been fun. I just had to keep it quiet, you know. Especially from Ana."

His fists are balls by his side now.

"And the job is done, sir." Why is he acting like he just dropped the body I told him to knock off into the river?

"Well then, how was she?"

"Mr. Grey, I did what you asked," he bites. Taylor's never bitten before, either. At least not the hand that feeds him. All this spitting and biting is worrisome. He's either extremely upset or he has rabies.

"Did she like it? Her father wasn't around, was he?"

He exhales, almost like he's a bull blowing out steam. Why do I get the strange feeling he wants to charge me?

"I know I work for you, but I thought I've come to know you as a friend, even family. A friend of your family." He gives me a pointed look. "I will always do my job, but I don't have to agree with it, sir."

He walks off.

Shit. Is he really that against Teddy having a little girlfriend? Or maybe he's just upset he wasn't part of making the valentine card. Maybe Taylor has glitter envy.

"You are the sun Juliet…" Elliot says on stage and after a long, odd pause… "Yeah, girl. Here comes that sun." He pulls Kavanagh into a lip lock to avoid further line readings, I'm sure.

"That a boy!" I hear my grandfather shout out.

Fuck the actors. I look out in the audience. I can't see any girl holding Teddy's valentine. But, Taylor said he just gave it to her, so the girl has to have it. She couldn't have just thrown it away, could she? Oh god, I hope not.

"Ready to make some magic happen?"

Oh fuck, Tilly's back. Kill me now. Wait, maybe Tilly can be good for something...

"Hey, do you know the first grade class well?"

"Yes, I do their PE on Thursdays and Tuesdays." It annoys me to no end that she said the days in that order, but then again so does so much about Tilly. I'm sure she doesn't actually do their PE. She instructs from the sidelines eating whatever frozen burrito was available on a two-for-one special. She takes the two and leaves the one. No, she probably takes that one, too.

"Is there a girl with the last name Bentley?" I ask.

She thinks. This could take all millennium.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. There's no one with the last name Bentley at this school at all at the moment."

What the hell? Who is this kid—ghost girl?

"Are you sure, because I'm positive it was Bentley."

"Well, there is some girl with the first name Bentley..."

First name? Oh, maybe I misunderstood...

"Oh, yes! That must be it. Where is she?"

"Why do you want to know?" Tilly asks, giving me a death glare all of a sudden. Why is this girl inciting such distasteful reactions?

"The kids mentioned her. I hadn't heard her name before. I was just curious."

"She's nothing special, but if you must know," she says with the only thing Tilly will ever be pregnant with besides burrito triplets—attitude. "She's standing by the teacher's desk."

I look over and I don't see any little girl. In fact there are no kids over there at all. All I see is that bimpy blonde Elliot was going on about—

"Oh fuck!" I say as it hits me like a bolder in my face.

"Mr. Grey!" Tilly scolds, but then gets all breathy like she's turned on by my dirty mouthed outburst. But, I have no time for beasts in heat.

"Don't tell me that grown woman is Bentley." I point straight to the girl twirling her bleached ends and drinking diet soda with a pink straw while she watches the play.

Please no. Please no. Please no.

"I wouldn't call her grown, but yes, that's her."

"Who the hell is she? I've never seen her."

"She's a college aide. She started a few weeks back, part time."

As if a the typhoon hit, all of my worst nightmares crash into me. My son is in love with an old blonde.

Holy shit! That's why Taylor's mad at me. He thinks I gave those gifts to that girl.

The gifts!

Fuck. I look around. She's not holding them. Both her hands are caught up in her split ends and her caffeine and chemicals. And I don't see them anywhere around her. I have to get them back! I start to take off, but Tilly holds me and prevents my leave, and trust me the moose is strong.

"I have to go!" I say, the ham fighting the hoof.

"Oh no you don't. You're staying with me!"

"Let me go!" I fight.

"We're on next!"

I look up as stage smoke starts to blow in and I'm blinded and coughing it up. Where did they get this shit—Asbestos R Us? I can't even see the audience anymore to look for the gifts or the girl. Or Ana! Oh shit, where's Ana?

A bad recording of _Love and Marriage_ by Sinatra comes on. I bet Tilly recorded a _Married with Children_ rerun with her iPhone straight off the TV. I think I can hear her munching chips in the background.

"I'm seeing hearts," the announcer says.

I'm seeing nothing! I take that back, I'm seeing my life flash before my eyes if Ana catches wind of that girl getting Cartier and tea roses from me. Let alone that valentine with my fucking name signed on it in my fucking writing!

Suddenly a bunch of little preschoolers dressed as pink and purple hearts fly out onto the stage like they were just shot from a canon fueled with pixie sticks.

Before I know it, Tilly is dragging me forward as other food groups, Taylor and Nympho Carrot included, take the stage. Along with Peanut Butter Dick Head and his Granny Jar of Grape we have Almond Milk and Muslei (the moms who IV frappuccinos directly into their veins around here thought it was healthier than Lucky Charms and milk); mustard and ketchup; and being the high brow hippie joint it is, a vegan sushi roll with gluten free, low sodium soy sauce.

Fuck this food, I have to get to Taylor. He's gotta tell me where he left that gift.

We're all standing in a chorus line formation, like some broadway buffet. That fucking sushi roll keeps sticking his chopsticks in my ear. And I have Tilly hanging onto me like the E. coli in her yolks. Taylor's not faring any better. Luciano has her hands all over his abnormally large green balls.

Then, the little cocoa cups and marshmallows do some tap dance thing across the stage to grand applause and surround us.

As jelly steps forward to spread herself on peanut butter's sandwich—I swear, if I wasn't shitting in my hog about everything going on, the commentary on this quite embarrassing, mildly pornographic display would be endless—I shimmy my way left to Taylor's right.

"Taylor," I whisper and I can see he's trying to ignore me. "Taylor, listen to me. I didn't give those things to that girl."

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't corroborate your story," he whispers out of the side of his mouth.

"It's not a story. None of that was from me. You need to help me get it back!"

"So, now you're sorry about it, Mr. Grey?"

"Yes, but not why you think. I'm in trouble."

"Shhh!" Sushi says, waving his sticks.

"I understand, sir. You need me once you're in trouble." Is this about him being upset thinking I'm cheating on Ana or him still pissed he didn't get to drive me anywhere yesterday?

"I can explain everything."

"Save the marriage counseling for off-stage," Soy Sauce whispers. Big advice from a woman who fucked her therapist while her husband fed the meter.

I look around and the entire food circus is appalled we're making noise through this epic performance of Muesli getting Almond Milk poured in her bowl. Seriously, this is going well beyond what should be deemed decent for a preschool performance. And how did I become the moral barometer for these things?!

"I need to know where you put it," I fight to get Taylor's attention again, but Nympho Carrot has her head all up in his business. Oh wait, that's not her head.

"Her box in the teacher's lounge," Taylor says.

Fuck. Well, maybe I can still get it.

"Run as you may," the old lady narrator says, stopping me in my tracks. "But, Cupid'z arrow always finds a way."

Some tinker bell jingle sounds and the lights dim.

All of a sudden the lights go up and Phoebe flies across the stage. And I mean literally flies! They have her on some sort of contraption with a harness and wings. Granted, she's only four feet off the ground, but still, this highly dangerous and why wasn't I warned about this?!

"Phoebe! Get down!" I say to her and she giggles as everyone on stage tries to shush me. She flies back and forth for the _oohs_ and _ahhs_ of the audience. But, I will not be shushed! "Phoebe!"

"Look Daddy, I'm flying!" Phoebe says and the audience laughs like it's some cute joke.

"Phoebe get down!"

But, of course she doesn't listen. She takes one of her arrows and throws it, knocking some kid in his head. The funny thing is he barely even notices.

"You're in love!" she scolds him and as if he's just remembering his part because of Cupid's not-so-subtle reminder, he skips off hand-in-hand with another heart and that cheesy 80s song Two of Hearts starts playing on the speaker.

Then, I see him. Like a gnat flying at me. Brown hair, beady hazel eyes and bad intentions—Dukey Nutweiler.

Though I feared Dukey may be more of a Don Juan romantic, it's worse. He doesn't just throw an amorous spear or two out there and see if they stick, he uses his love bow to chuck arrow after arrow. So many arrows that I know he's waging battle against me.

Heart after heart falls under his expert skill and range. He's got the quick wrist of a heartbreaker and the aim of a sniper. He's also got a wedgie from that harness.

The kids keep swinging back and forth. I didn't know I'd have to stop this shit mid air and at mid torso. While I dive between arrows, I try to block Phoebe. I'm making progress until I see Bentley get up from her seat.

Oh shit.

She's throwing her diet soda can in the NON recycle bin of all places and she doesn't look like she's going to sit back down.

"It's almost our turn," Tilly whispers and yanks me away from line of fire.

"Tilly, stop!" I whisper back and pull away.

Taylor and Luciana have taken their featured place and are about to start to do whatever abominable pea people and nympho carrots do, when I turn and see Dukey pulling his last arrow out of his bag and aiming just as Phoebe is swinging into his line of shot.

"No!" I say as I hurl myself through the air to stop his love shot, throwing Tilly off and sending her into the cocoa mug kids like a ball to pins. I extend my reach and catch the arrow in mid flight, just before it strikes a giggling Phoebe and I fall forward and topple Taylor straight to the ground, stabbing the foam arrow into his heart, instead.

There are gasps from the audience and the whole place falls silent.

"What the heck are you doing?" Soy Sauce yells out.

"Uh…" I look out onto the audience and then to Taylor. "Well, I don't think it's right that if Ham and Peas want to be together they can't because of dietary restrictions."

There's a moment of silence, then the place erupts in applause. There's a standing ovation. Taylor and I are called to our feet to take a celebratory bow as the audience chants "ham and peas" in honor of our union. We've suddenly become the poster children for food pairing equality.

I look to the back of the room and I see Bentley doesn't care about the evolution of this social cause playing out on this stage. I think she needs another diet soda, because she's headed straight for the teacher's lounge.

Fuck.

I guess everyone deems Taylor and me the best ending of the show, because the big number is scrapped, much to Tilly's dismay, and the curtain is called with the audience on their feet demanding an encore.

Encore my ass. I take off running for the lounge.

"Bentley!" I say, out of breath as I open the door and see her standing in front of the mailboxes. "Don't look in your—"

She turns around and smiles, holding the empty Cartier box and tea roses in one hand and the card in the other.

"Box." Fuck. I'm done for. "Look, I can explain."

"You don't need to explain." She walks over. "I will definitely be your valentine, Mr. Grey."

Oh shit. She's wearing the necklace already; the words "be sweet" spelled out in pink diamonds and shimmering from her chest.

"I'll be real sweet for you," she says and she sounds like she has experience.

"No!" I try to back away but she's all up on my meat." Listen, I have a wife and almost four children."

"Don't worry, I'll be quiet. I know a man in binding situations has needs." Odd choice of wording.

"No, you don't understand. I don't need anything but you gone and this forgotten."

"Oh, I know the kinky games you'd like to play."

"Trust me, you have no idea."

I back up further. This girl is far too experienced and shrew-like for college. Of course the only college girl I've ever been with was a virgin. She chases me around the room until she has me cornered by the refrigerator and then I hear the door open.

Fuck.

"What's going on here?"

I turn my head sharply. Oh double fuck, it's Ana!

"Nothing!" Bentley and I both say in unison as she jumps away from me and I gain my bearings.

"It doesn't look like nothing to me," Ana says as she stands shell shocked at the door.

"Ana, no! This is a big misunderstanding." I rush to her.

"Oh yeah," she says and points to the card and Cartier box in Bentley's hands. "Why does she have my gift?"

"That's not your gift!"

"You told me it was."

"Okay, I kind of lied. But, it was for a good cause."

"What cause? Your own?"

"Ana, no, that stuff is not from me to her."

She steps forward to Bentley.

"Can I see those?"

Bentley doesn't even try to stop her as she grabs the card and the box.

"To Bentley," Ana reads. "Will you be my valentine? Mr. Grey." Ana drops the card and box, immediately in tears.

"Ana, no!" I move to her, but she pushes me away. "That's not from me."

"It's in your writing!"

"Yes, there's an explanation."

"Mr. Grey, is everything okay?" Taylor peeks his head in and when he sees the situation unfolding tries to scoot away.

"Taylor, did you know about this?" Ana asks.

"No, Mrs. Grey. He kept everything hidden from me." He glares at me.

"Who's side are you on?!" I ask.

"Is this why you've been so secretive? Why you wouldn't let Taylor drive you around yesterday?" Ana asks.

"Yes and no."

"Do you want to fuck this tramp because I'm fat?"

"Hey!" Bentley says.

"What?! Ana, no! I'm horny all the time because you're fat!"

"You think I'm fat?!" She cries.

I can't win.

"No. I mean, you're beautiful! Listen to me. I love you. I would never cheat on you. Just let me explain."

"I'm listening." She gives that look that say I better talk fast or testicles are going to be removed.

"I'm not the Mr. Grey that's in love with this girl," I say.

"That's your explanation?!"

"I'd say that was a weak answer, sir," Taylor says.

"Maybe, but it's true."

"Oh yeah? Who is it, Elliot? Your father? Because those are the only two I know," Ana says.

"No. Our son."

She stares at me for a moment.

"What?"

"Remember when he was acting all weird the other night?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he confessed to me he had a crush and he wanted to ask her to be his valentine. So, I agreed to help, but he swore me to secrecy."

"Our Teddy?"

"Yes."

"Why did you encourage him liking an older woman like that?"

"I didn't know it was her. I thought it was some other six-year-old girl, but once I figured it out it was too late."

"Little Teddy's in love with her?" Ana asks.

"Little Teddy's in love with me?" Bentley asks.

I nod to both of them.

"That's so sweet," Bentley says and Ana glares at her.

"Why is the card in your writing, then?"Ana asks.

"Because he couldn't spell the words!" I move to her. "Besides, if I was trying to get with some girl do you really think I'd glitter up a construction paper card and glue macaroni to it?"

"Well, you don't know much about romancing women." She laughs.

I take hold of her chin and tilt it up to me.

"I do now."

She smiles and I lean in to give her a kiss. "Mrs. Grey, just you wait until you see your valentines tonight."

"Oh, Mr. Grey, this all makes me so happy," Taylor says, practically weeping with joy.

"We have real trust issues to work on, Taylor," I snap.

"Yes, sir."

"You bought Cartier for a six-year-old?" Ana asks.

"Okay, so I went a little overboard, but I wanted Teddy to do all the hearts and flowers right."

"Oh, Christian," Ana starts uncontrollably weeping into my ham suit.

"What's wrong, baby? I told you I didn't do anything." I stroke her back.

"I'm not my baby boy's valentine anymore!" She sobs. And she's the one who told me I was ridiculous for getting upset over all those cards!

"Tell me about it. I nearly broke my neck catching that arrow on stage."

"Our babies aren't babies anymore," she sniffles.

"Well, we have two more coming." I touch her belly.

She snorts a laugh.

"Where is Teddy?" Bentley asks.

"He's outside playing with his friends," Taylor says.

She nods and heads out the door.

"Where the hell is she going?" I ask.

"I think she's heading for the yard, Mr. Grey," Taylor says as he looks around the corner.

"Stay here with Ana," I say to Taylor.

"No, I'm coming, too," she says.

"Teddy doesn't want you to see anything. Stay here, please."

I rush off to the yard. Just as I cross the doorway I see Bentley on bended knee in front of Teddy under a winter apple tree. I tuck myself behind a post and watch their interaction. She's saying something and he's spellbound. Then she smiles, leans in and kisses him on the cheek. Oh my god, I've witnessed his first sort of, kind of kiss.

One of the kids calls her in the distance and she waves goodbye and smiles at him as she walks away. Teddy looks like he just got hit by a semi truck. He stares ahead, blushing and touching a cheek he'll probably never want to wash again.

"Teddy," I say on approach after giving him a good moment to take it all in. "How's it going?"

He looks up at me, bewildered.

"She said she'd be my valentine."

"That's great, buddy!" Although I'm not sure if that's a good thing. It would've been sweet to take Teddy and another six-year-old on ice cream "dates", but with Bentley that's just awkward. Elena and I with my mother would've been less odd back in the day. In fact, we did do food outings a couple of times. Although it was usually French food and it always ended up with Elena trying to jerk me off under the table. How am I going to tell Teddy he has to drop this girl?

"Yeah," Teddy says and scrunches his nose. "But, I think I feel different now."

"You do?"

"Yeah, now that she knows, it's not as fun. I think it was all about the chase."

"Really?" Shit, I may have another Elliot on my hands here. "So, you're already onto a new love?"

"No, I think I'm done with girls."

"How come?"

"I'm tired of keeping clean all the time. Dirt is my life." He shrugs.

"Well, I think that's a good call. Talk to me again in a few years." I ruffle his hair. "How about we get home so we can give your mother and sister their Valentine's Day presents and eat lots of chocolate? I know your mom would love it if you'd be her valentine."

He nods. Shit, I still have a date with a hamster and a pig to get ready for before I can romance my wife.

"Hey dad?" he asks as I take his hand to lead him inside.

"What is it, Sport?"

"Don't tells the guys a girl kissed me, I'll never live it down."

"Okay," I laugh. "But again, talk to me in a few years."

 ** _To be continued..._**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Sorry for the delay and thank you for your patience! I got unexpectedly busy last week. Ana and Christian's date should be up by Monday and my other stories will be updated shortly. Thanks for reading and reviewing! Darker and Fatherhood stories will have updates, too. Love you guys! xo**_

"You know, that color really brings out the blush in your complexion," I say to the lady in periwinkle as we sit poolside in formal wear, sipping hibiscus lemonade and listening to an arrangement of romantic instrumentals I've had made for the occasion. I straighten the red velvet tie of my tux as I take a gander at her plunging neckline."But, don't you think it's a bit revealing for a first date? I mean, this guy's a real rat."

She snorts at me. Of course she does. She's a real pig.

"Hey Phoebe," I call out. "Is Chester almost ready? His date is getting impatient out here." His date, Henrietta—whose hog high heels are sticking gopher-sized holes a la Caddyshack in the imitation lawn—is starting to take the shrubs up at the back of the dollhouse with her snout. I'm afraid the Pilates deck is next. I'm not sure how I got to be guardian of the hog, but here I am, sitting in a strawberry shaped chair three sizes too small for my ass, holding Henrietta on a rhinestone studded leash while we wait for Chester and Phoebe to get done in her dressing room. It's been a long wait. And, like I find when I'm forced to talk to Tilly, after a few minutes you run out of conversation with a pig in a dress.

"Don't drink out of the pool!" I say to Henrietta as she sticks her snout in the water. I pull her leash to keep her back. "I think Chester pees in there."

The whole place is decked out with heart shaped balloons, pink and white roses and flickering lightbulbs that look like candles—no way, no how would I allow the real thing to burn in here with this zoo in love on the loose. I've had the event catered by The Mile High Club. When they asked me dietary restrictions for the occasion, I answered pork because of the lady's family concerns. They asked if she was kosher and I had to tell them no, that it actually could be a concern that a family member of hers may be on the menu. But, they know who they're talking to, so they don't ask any questions. Chef Leopoldo designed the vegetarian spread that's set on Phoebe's daffodil tea table with the finest linens and china and crystal. We're seated next to the Barbie jacuzzi, so once the non-alcoholic bubbling grape juice kicks in Chester can get his date all hot and bothered in the bubbles of the hot tub. Although, at best I'm not sure she'll fit and at worst I'm afraid she'll sit on him and drown him.

"I'm getting his socks and shoes on," Phoebe calls out. "The little penny fell out of one of his loafers." The little penny must be the size of an ant shit. And I thought finding Barbie shoes was a pain. I'm surprised she doesn't have me on the floor with my iPhone flashlight, searching for his loose change.

"I'm sure she won't mind, she's missing a heel herself," I yell back after noticing the thing stuck in the lawn like some pig pink yard gnome. Henrietta's also missing panties. I can see this because her dress is hiked up around her waist, but I won't mention her missing unmentionables.

She's starting to walk inside the Barbie house now. I'm fearful she might make a hard turn and take out a floor. Or Chester's pool-house apartment. I know his waterbed wouldn't survive the collapse. And I don't want to be responsible for all that Gucci leather in his closet being ruined.

"Now, now, Henrietta." I tug her leash back, but she doesn't budge, so I reach over and try to pull her hind end with my hands and she immediately starts squealing like I'm some alley assaulter. "Sorry, cold hands." I pull them away.

"He's ready," Phoebe says, walking out, carrying the Don Juan furball himself, who's all decked out in a lilac, ruffled shirt Armani tux. I had to pay Giorgio extra, because ruffles and lilac are against his religion. Chester looks like a 70's gigolo who got lost on his way to buy his body weight in gold chains and cologne and ended up at a all night disco.

"Sorry we're late," she says. "Chester had to wash his hair so it wouldn't smell like where he goes poopy."

"That's the first thing I do before a hot date." I notice he's still got the pink dye on the old tuft up top, but it's more buzz military cut now. Has he been to the hairdresser, too? Franco probably came over and did it. It looks like his work. Ever since I've contracted him exclusively for my family, he's always trying to get his hands in someone's tresses for an extra dime.

Phoebe is all dolled up in the most adorable red velvet dress— that matches my tie—and ruby red patent Louboutin Mary Janes. Two diamond encrusted combs sweep her hair back on each side.

She's an angel.

"You are stunningly beautiful," I say, awed that something so perfect and pure and good is made of any of me. "I couldn't ask for a more lovely valentine than you."

"Thank you, Daddy!" She throws her arms around my neck and gives me a kiss on the cheek. What did I ever do in life to deserve this? "I got you something."

"You did?"

She nods. "But you gots to close your eyes so your eyeballs will be surprised."

"Okay." I close my eyes, hoping something isn't going to pop out at me. I tease her by trying to take a small peek and she puts both her hands over them.

"No peeks! Make like there's glue on your lashes."

I fear for a second if I don't do as I'm told she just might put it there. Her craft table is armed and ready.

"Okay, I'm sorry. No more peeking." I close them tight.

I can hear her rustling around. At least I think that's her. I hope it's not Henrietta eating lawn furniture.

"Okay, you could open them now."

I open my eyes to a card she's holding out that she's made for me. I recognize the glitter and macaroni adornment as a Phoebe Grey original. Though, this one is a little different than the usual. There's something large and misshapen made out of brown felt on top of what looks like a mammoth ash colored mountain.

"Is this Aspen?" I ask, pointing to the card.

"No. That's your head,"she points to big brown blob. "And that's your suit body," she points to the gray rock thing.

"This is me?" I ask and she nods. "Where's my face?"

"This is the behind of you. You're walking away from us."

"Why am I walking away?" Is this how she sees me? Walking out on my family and going to work in my suit? This is quite disturbing to me. In fact, it's devastating.

"You founded out some one of us needed something and you went to go do it, because you always do stuff for us when we need you to. We don't even gotta ask first."

I smile. That's just about the best explanation ever.

"It's true; I would do anything for you," I put my arm around her and pull her close to give her a kiss on the side of her head. "And your brother and your mom and the babies."

"I know, 'cause you're our Daddy." She shrugs, like it's the most normal thing in all the world—a dad who loves his family above all else. And my heart nearly bursts knowing that that's all she will ever know.

"See, there's your heart," she points to a pink glitter drawn heart that nearly takes up the entire card, but whose center is the gray rock that is my back. "But, your heart is so big it exploded out bigger than you and that's what you love us with." I smile. She has no idea she's telling this to a man who once told her mother he didn't have one at all. Maybe it was just too big for me to see it alone. "Read it. I made it to say what I wanted, but Mommy helped me spell the words."

" _To my Daddy,_ " I read aloud. " _The man who's got the biggest, prettiest heart I know._ " I look down and see there's some smaller writing at the bottom that I read to myself: _P.S. I think so, too, Ana xo._ I touch my fingers to the paper and run them over the writing, then trace the heart with my forefinger.

"Why are your eyes making swimmer's pools, Daddy?"

I then look up into Phoebe's big blue eyes that are just like Ana's. She's right; I'm tearing up. Big, bad Christian Grey weeping over a valentine card. Maybe not so big and bad anymore. I smile.

"Because, like you said, my heart has so much love in it, it's gotta come out somewhere."

"You're crying love?"

"Yes."

She looks at me and then gently wipes my tears away with her sweet glitter covered fingers, literally replacing my weeping with her sparkles. I take her hand and kiss it. I was wrong to pose that question before; there is no possible way I've ever done anything good enough to deserve what I have. This is more than I would deserve in ten or twenty lifetimes of the work of a saint. There's that word again— _more_. A word Ana made real. The best word I've ever known.

"And Chester and me made you a present, too," she says as she scampers off to her desk to find something.

"Really? Chester? I didn't know you cared."

He stands on her shoulder and flashes his fangs and claws. His shirt's coming untucked and exposing a belly that's enjoyed one too many nachos lounging in the pool on the flamingo floaty.

"You're his favorite," she says as she grabs a box wrapped in kissing puppy dog paper and a silver ribbon that looks like a firework exploding on top.

"Really? He bites the ones he loves?"

"Well, he only really ever bites you."

"I'm touched, Chester. I always knew we had something special."

He chatters his teeth and makes some noises in his rodent squeak speak. He's probably telling me to sit and spin.

Phoebe hands me the little box and I open it up to find a large purple paper clip with four red velvet hearts hanging from it that have some fuzzy pink stuff glued on them.

"Oh, it's beautiful. How does this work?" Or rather, what is it? But, I don't want her to think I don't know.

"It's a clip for your tie so you could be more fancy at work."

"This is perfect; I need to be more fancy at the office."

"I know, because all you wear is colors that are like sad clouds."

"So, what do I need to do to be more sunny?"

"Well..." She thinks about this, scrunching her nose up like Ana does when she's trying to solve the problem that is me. "You need to get more pinks and purples and rainbow stripes in your life."

"Well then, this is just what I need," I say and she smiles. "Chester helped make this?"

"Yeah, 'cause I cut some of his pink fur off of his up top head and glued it on the hearts." Ahh, Chester fur, it's better than chinchilla. That explains the buzz cut. At least Franco's not going to bill me $275 for the job. "Franco helped to make it cuter on top his head, after he cut Mommy's and my hairs, though." I was wrong. I'm definitely getting the bill. "And he gave him a conditioner mask and oil from the other side of the whole world to shine-ify his all over hair and make it more pinker on his bangs." Well, there goes another hundred or five.

"You didn't have him do Boone while he was at it?"

"He says he doesn't know how to make feathers pretty, but he's gonna learn." I bet he is.

"Nice and shiny, Chester," I say as I turn and see his ass is facing me now. Typical. "I love my present, Phoebe! Thank you!"

"Welcome," she says.

I put the tie clip on at the part of my tie closest to my heart.

"And I have something for you," I say.

"Really?" She jumps up and down as I pull a gift out of my pocket.

"Of course. It's Valentine's Day, isn't it? Open it up." I hand it to her.

She opens the box to reveal a heart shaped locket lined in diamonds with a large ruby at the center. It's huge and the stones are flawless. She has no idea it cost more than most of her friend's houses. But, her eyes light up when she sees it, and that's enough for me. Always. The sparkle in her eyes is far more brilliant than that of the stones themselves.

"It's the prettiest neck-a-lace I ever sawed!" she says. "It's like one for a princess."

"You're right; that's because it's for you."

"Could you put it on me, so then I could never want to take it off ever forever?"

"Yes, and make sure you wear it around all those boys who gave you those cards and tell them something, okay?"

"What?"

"Glitter ain't diamonds."

She giggles. She thinks I'm kidding. I turn her around and place it around her neck, clasping it secure. She lifts it and holds it in her hands to examine it. "Now, look inside." I put my fingers around hers and help her open the locket as I lean over her shoulder and we both look at the picture that's beneath the jewels.

"Is that you, Daddy?" she points.

"Yes, and that's you." I point to the little baby in a pink blanket in my arms.

"It is? But, I don't got no hair or open eyes."

"Yes, I know. It was taken the day you were born."

"I never knew I was ever so small."

"You were so tiny. And beautiful. And you surprised us by coming early, the way you did..." Taylor took that snapshot right after Ana had her on that harrowing night. I thought I knew what I was doing and I was prepared because I went through it all with Teddy, but boy was I wrong. Scheduled C-section?—yeah, right. As everything with Phoebe, she calls the shots. Of course I was nervous and excited and loved them both with all of me, instantly. That was the same. But, a little girl is a different thing entirely for a father. Taylor, knowing first hand what little girls do to dads, told me right after this was taken that I would now understand what it means to be in a state of perpetual heart attack for the rest of my life. He was right. And I wouldn't trade it for anything.

"Is that what the babies will look like?" she asks.

"Yes, but they won't be you." I brush her hair back down onto her shoulders and adjust her combs. "There's only one you, just like there's only one Teddy."

"There's only one you, too, Daddy." She turns and smiles, wrapping her arms around my neck. "Daddy, even when I have four twin sisters, will you always be my Valentimes?"

"Always." And it's a promise made with my heart that's entirely too big to be contained in my body.

"Four twin sisters?" I ask. "That would be eight, wouldn't it?" Talk about heart attack. They'd name a new wing after me in the cardiac unit at Northwestern. Not because I donated the most money; because I needed the most treatment.

She nods.

"We'll have to talk Mommy into that one."

All of a sudden there's a loud, high pitched squealing noise. It sounds like the wolves got Henrietta, but it's just Chester who launched himself onto her back claws first and used it as a stepping stool down from the table to the pool probably to look for some of those nachos he left behind.

"Hey, by the way," I say. "Where's Henrietta's person, Lucy?"

"Honey and Lulu's island."

"Who are Honey and Lulu?" Oh god, I hope not more pigs. I'm not overseeing Chester in a swine threesome.

"It's where people go on sandy vacation and wear grass and eat coconuts and go swim with the fishes that try to bite your toes, but not 'cause they're mean, just 'cause their lips do that." She sucks in her cheeks and makes fishy lips.

"Wait, do you mean Honolulu?"

She nods. "That's what I said, Daddy."

"How long is she gone for?"

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks? Where's Henrietta staying?" Why do I get the feeling I'll be sorry I asked.

"In her pink bed." She points to the corner of the room where her pig pen is all set up like Bucking-Ham Palace.

"She's staying here for two weeks?"

She nods. Shit, a rodent, a turkey and a pig all under one roof? It's like Jose, Kate and Elliot decided to set up camp. Actually, I take it back, it's not anywhere near as bad as that.

"Time for the date!" Phoebe says, throwing her arms in the air.

"So, do we all just take our seats and start on dinner?" I ask.

"You have to take Chester out so us girls can be getting beautiful and then be picked up for the date."

"Wait, we're already at the location of the date."

She shakes her head like "Dad, please."

"I was just sipping lemonade by the pool," I say. "The dinner is right over there." I point and see Chester's head poking out from his cabana at the mention of a meal.

She shakes her head again.

"That part is divisidable," she says.

"What does that mean?"

"You can't see the date until the magic fairy flies over top and shakes her dust over it."

"That's not like the glitter pooping unicorns, is it?"

"No. Unicorn poop is just pretty. It doesn't got big powers."

"When does this sprinkling of date magic happen?"

"You gotta go outside with Chester first." She picks up Chester from his cabana and puts him on my shoulder and the next thing I know we're out in the hall facing her closed door.

"Don't fucking bite me," I say to Chester who's sitting on my shoulder as we wait for Phoebe to give the okay for me to knock. I'm holding his sunflowers, his gift from Cartier that costs more than most engagement rings and whatever version the pet store found for me of pig "chocolates" in a heart shaped box. "I saved your ass, Chester. So, if you get laid tonight because of me, no biting for the rest of the year."

Of course he chooses that exact moment to take a hack out of my earlobe.

"Damn!" I mutter to myself and feel for missing flesh on my lobe.

"Mr. Grey, is everything all right?" Taylor asks as he catches me in the hall. Where the hell did he come from? He's always flying out from behind dark corners like some bat.

"Yes, fine. Why?" I rub my ear and look to see there's a drop of blood on my fingers. Fuck.

"You're staring at the closed door with the hamster in his tuxedo on your shoulder, carrying flowers and chocolates, sir." He left out the Cartier.

"And this looks odd to you?" I ask.

"Not anymore, sir" he smiles.

"Chester has a date," I say, motioning to the vermin, who's now investigating my collar to see if he should climb inside and go on a blood tasting tour of my whole fucking body. I feel like I should offer him cheese and grapes and a spit bucket to complete the experience.

"Yes, sir," Taylor says and continues on his way to do whatever the fuck he's doing. He's so damn delighted to see me like this. He never used to smile in the old days when he caught me outside the playroom. I guess that's the point. My definition of playroom has changed dramatically over the years. Instead of cats and flogging, I'm taking a rat to go hogging.

"Okay!" Phoebe yells out and I take that as my cue to knock.

"Good evening," Phoebe says, holding Henrietta on that leash as she opens the door. I think she put lipstick on her. And from the smell of it, sprayed her with some heavy Eau de Swinette. I recognize the scent from Back to School night. "So lovely that the Grey brothers could make it this even-ing."

"Elliot's here?" I ask and she motions with her head to Chester. Oh that's right; Chester's my brother.

"Yes, we're looking forward to the event."

"Oh look, Lady Henrietta, Count Chester brought you your favorite flowers." That's right we're Counts, too.

I hand the sunflowers to Phoebe and she shows Henrietta who sniffs, snorts and chomps the head off one whole. Hey, I had those imported off season!

"He also has candies and a present for you, Henrietta," she says and I hold them up and Phoebe takes them to show her.

"Don't let her snort around the Cartier," I say. She may take the whole thing down and I'll be stuck sifting through pig shit looking for rubies.

"Chester, your sports car is waiting for you to drive Henrietta to dinner," she says.

"Drive her? I thought we were here now," I say. Didn't I just ask this question? Why are we never at the location when we're at the location?

"We can't be at Chester's place if we're at Henrietta's." Duh, Dad.

"So what do we do now?"

She motions to the driveway where the Barbie R8 is parked.

"I thought that was Barbie's car."

"Yeah, but Chester lives with her some of the time and watches over her pool for sharks that might hide there and he makes sure her snacks aren't stoled, so she lets him drive her car if he wants to shop for clothes and stuff for his hair."

Chester's a regular Hollywood pool boy. Sort of the Kato Kaelin of rodents.

"Okay, Chester," I say. "Let's get you in your sugar mama's car and get this date on the road."

To prevent more of my bloodshed, Phoebe lifts him off my shoulder and puts him in the car and puts tiny Prada sunglasses on him. Once he's in the driver's seat I start to back the car down the long driveway and on my knees I push the thing down a roadway that Phoebe's mapped out with Legos.

"Better turn around and face the road, Chester," I say. He's practically crawling out the back end, with his own back end in the air.

"You wanna listen to some music?" I put on the Bose sound system in the car and "Baby got back" is on. Appropriate.

"Look, Henrietta, he's got a sports car!" Phoebe says, all excited. "All the handsomest boys drive those."

"Don't be impressed with boys in fast cars," I say as I pull up to the green Lego curb in front of Henrietta's pen.

I open the passenger door for Henrietta and I try to lift the squealing thing to put her in, but it's painfully obviously to me and Chester's head under her ass-zilla that she's not going to fit in the car.

"What's wrong, Daddy?"

"Uh, nothing. Just readying the seat for her. She needs more leg room."

I don't want to dash Phoebe's vision of the dream date, or prolong the process, so I lean over to block Phoebe's view and have Henrietta trot beside as I pull her along. I think I just pulled an important groin muscle in the process.

As I drive the two lovebirds back to the dollhouse on bended knees, I get to thinking. When I envisioned my future as a young hotshot, I can honestly say I never thought I'd be a hand servant driver to a rodent. Is this what Taylor used to feel about life?

"The fairy sprinkling is happening!" Phoebe announces as I move the car back into the driveway and by royal decree the date is at hand. Fucking finally! I had to ignore what I saw around me so much I felt like a Mafia wife.

Chester and Henrietta are both lifted to their places at the table by Phoebe, but since Chester can't see anything from his chair, he's sat on his plate. I worry he might shit on his napkin, but he doesn't stay put long enough to put down a deposit on his real estate. He dives into the artisanal bread basket head first and goes to town on some seven grain.

"Have a roll, why don't you?" I say as I find myself seated in the strawberry chair again. I hope I have feeling in my ass before my date with Ana tonight. What I have planned requires a lot of ass muscle usage.

"Count Chester would like to offer you a drink of fancy bubble juice, Lady Henrietta," Phoebe says as she lifts the bottle of grape juice from the chilled bucket and pours it into her glass. It doesn't look like Chester is offering up anything but his back end from the bread basket. Men...

"There's dinner, too," I say, and Chester climbs out with a chunk of focaccia and heads back to home plate. I'm not sure who the bigger pig on this date is.

Henrietta must smell the goods, because she leaps up onto the table and snorts around for some crumbs, sucks up a ball of butter and then charges for Chester's plate and steals his bread right out from under him. I imagine a date with Tilly might go something like this.

"No, no, no, Henrietta," Phoebe says as she pulls her away and back to her seat, chunk of loaf still in her mouth. "It's not lady like to walk all over your date's dinner."

Chester's on his hind legs, hissing again as he tries to grab the bread back.

"Careful Chester," I say. "She's a lot bigger than you."

There's squealing and squeaking and Chester's jumping on his hind legs trying to snatch the dough from her jaw. Phoebe takes the bread away from both of them and puts them back in their seats, again, both disappointed and disillusioned at what's just transpired.

"Time for gifts, Phoebe says, in an attempt to lighten the mood. She picks up the Cartier box and shows it to Henrietta. "Count Chester bought this for you. He thinks you are the mostest beautifulist ever and he is in love you and wants to be married to you and have lotsa babies."

Chester's eyes nearly pop out of his head at the knowledge that his bachelor days are waning.

"No more days on the floaty when the babies come," I say to Chester and he squeaks some obscenities my way.

Henrietta snorts as Phoebe opens the gift for her and pulls out the pink leather ruby studded collar with a little jagged half of a heart charm dangling from it.

"Why is it all zig-zag and broken, Daddy?"

"Because Chester is supposed to wear the other one," I point to another much smaller blue collar that the other half of the heart dangles from. "See, when they come together," I push the hearts together as one. "They have a complete heart."

"It's like their love!" she says, excitedly.

"Exactly."

"Look, you both got jewels," Phoebe says to Henrietta as she puts it on her neck. "And when Chester puts his part into your part you got your love." Oh my god. I don't need to hear any talk about that.

Over the courses, the clothes come off. Chester lost his cummerbund in the tomato bisque, his jacket over his little caesar and his pants have nearly dropped on his noodles. His ruffled shirt is the only thing hanging on. That, and his loafers, shockingly. Hell, Henrietta's got one sleeve off, exposing four of her eight tits. The date hasn't even started yet and they're already taking it to obscene levels. I imagine if Kate and Elliot had actually spent time together before screwing, it might have gone something like this. Instead, it was all dance, dance, in your pants.

As the carrot cake dessert is served, I'm grateful that things have gone rather smoothly, considering. Aside from fighting over carbohydrates and a little hiss and growl, no one's pissed their area or bitten each other's face off. Again, different from Kate and Elliot.

"They haven't had their kiss," Phoebe says.

"They're only on their first date," I say, nearly choking on my eggplant.

"So?" she asks.

Oh my God. I'm in big trouble. I have horrific visions of me in the bushes at some fraternity party stopping Phoebe from lip locking with a toga jerk she just met over jungle juice and suggestive beats. And believe me, I'll be in the bushes all over her life. I may even set up bush camp at her college. Taylor and I will be a regular bushwhacking operation. And I know Taylor knows all about that.

"They're gonna get married, they gotta kiss," she says.

I sigh in relief. "You're right, you only kiss when you're getting married, after thirty, to a man your father approves of." Which is no one. Ever. I wonder how long I can get her to believe in that.

Phoebe picks Chester up and puts him next to Henrietta on her chair.

"Okay, kiss!" Phoebe says, making those fishy lips again.

There's an awkward silence in this pinnacle moment of our inter-species love story. They both just stare ahead. Of course, given that we're just watching them, waiting for something to happen, I can't really blame them.

"Why isn't he being romantical?" Phoebe asks.

"He's quite shorter than her," I say. "I don't think he can reach her lips."

"Don't short mans get romantical?"

"Not easily."

"He can jump real high, though," she says. Unless he's Michael Jordan with a slam dunk, I don't think lip action is going to happen tonight.

But Chester, being Chester, never ceases to surprise me. He knows his short comings and doesn't waste his time trying for first base. Instead he says fuck it to basketball analogies and decides he's going for home run king. In a lightning quick move, he hops up, wraps himself around her leg and starts to vigorously hump it.

Oh my god.

"What's he doing, Daddy?"

"Uhh... I think he's hugging her."

"Why is he bouncing up and down like that?"

"He's really excited." Please don't let his excitement show!

Henrietta is squealing now, but not in the way a man would prefer a woman to be squealing when he's in the act. I try to pull him away, but his limbs are locked around her like iron latches. He doesn't even try to bite me; he's too damn focused. There's no way he's letting go of his woman.

Henrietta doesn't feel the same about her man. She tries to shake him off her leg, running around her chair in circles, but he just won't let go.

"Maybe they're dancing," Phoebe says.

He's so fast and furious, all I can see are the ruffles on his shirt flying up and down and his half heart locket. It keeps flying up into his face, I'm surprised the metal doesn't knock him out.

"Yes, that's it. It's a Travolta number." He's taking Saturday Night Fever and Staying Alive to whole new levels.

I can't let this pet pornography continue. I move in to grab Henrietta. I figure I can hold her over the table and try to shake him off of her. But, just as I get her, she slips out of my hands and jumps up onto the table, with Chester still hanging on.

"Henrietta!" Phoebe says.

"Get back here!" I try to grab her as she runs across the china, her high heeled hooves flying through the feta and pesto fussili. The rodent rapist is still stuck to her thigh jack-hammering away. It's like he thinks he's at a porno rodeo.

"Daddy, do something! Chester can't hold on too long!"

"Trust me, I think he can."

I reach out and I've nearly got ahold of Henrietta's back end when she launches herself off the table, then runs across the grass and gardens of the dollhouse estate and with a flying leap belly flops into the pool.

"Chester!" Phoebe cries out as we both run over to the water.

For a moment my heart stills when I can't see him and I fear he's been lost in the chlorinated waters. But, sure enough the furball floats up. He's finally let go of her leg and, looking rather happy with himself, swims over to that damn flamingo floaty of his, crawls on top and resumes eating his days old nacho.

"I know what Chester was doing," Phoebe says.

Gulp.

"You do?"

She nods. Kill me now.

"He just wanted for them to go for a swim together."

Thank God!

"Yes, Phoebe. I think you're right. He just wanted a quick dip in the pool."

At least I don't have to have this talk until another decade. Not the next one. The one when she's thirty and she's thinking about maybe kissing a guy that her father will never approve of.

 _ **To be continued...**_


	5. Chapter 5

**_Sorry_** **_for for the delay! More stories soon! And your reviews are the best! Thank you for reading! More to come... xo Ash_**

"I can't see where we're going," Ana says, blindfolded in a red satin sash that matches her dress, as I direct our way into the elevator that leads to the rooftop at Escala. Though she's wrapped up in a Burberry coat, it's just open enough to give me a peek of her cleavage. And if it's glorious normally, tonight it's _halle-fucking-lujah I've left my body and I'm singing praises with the chorus on high_ magnificent. Though I'm tempted to make a stop at the apartment for some playtime that would make the walls of the red room blush, I have much bigger plans for this evening that heavily involve Ana's heavenly honeydews.

"Good. It's a surprise," I say, pressing the button to take us up as I look down and see she's biting into that delicious lip of hers. And like Pavlov's dog, I've got a bone. "Mrs. Grey, are you trying to seduce me?"

"Are you seduced?" she asks, with a playful smirk.

I take a piece of her hair in my fingers and play with it as I lean in to whisper in her ear. "Just because we're in an elevator doesn't mean I'll automatically lose all self control and ravage you here." I nip at her lobe.

"Why not?" She giggles, twisting her crimson pout. "It's tradition."

"Behave, Anastasia." I give her a little smack on her behind and she squeals and giggles again like she's a bottle of champagne bubbles bursting forth with the pop. I have a feeling I'll have the same problem if we don't get out of this elevator soon. Only, it won't be giggle bubbles popping off.

The elevator dings as we reach the top of the building and the doors open. A gust of wind blows as I lead her out onto the roof.

"I thought tonight we could go on a little trip," I say, removing her blindfold to reveal the helicopter waiting on standby ahead.

"We're going on Charlie Tango?" she asks, her hair billowing in the wind and soft curls framing her face as she claps her hands together and more of her bubbles spill forth. And of course I drink it all in and become intoxicated on her happiness. What can I say?—I'm an Anaholic.

"Are you excited?" I ask, and she nods as I wrap my arms around her from behind and pull her close, nuzzling her chestnut locks and inhaling a scent of fall that is pure and sweet and is only Ana. I think my first inclination that it was love was when I started to illicitly fantasize about smelling her hair.

"But, you've done this many times with me," I say.

"Somehow, it always feels like the first." She leans her head back into my shoulder. And though we're on a rooftop at night in winter, I feel nothing but warmth with her.

It does remind me of that first night I took her up in the sky. Though, I showed her what it was like to fly above the city, she showed me what it felt to be on top of the world.

"Only firsts with you," I say. I can feel her smile against my neck. "Now, you'll catch cold out here and we need to get a move on." I reluctantly release her, but take her hand quickly, so I don't have to stop touching her for long.

"I still love that you can do this, you know," she says as I walk her to her door of the helicopter and I smile. To think for so long I only ever flew alone.

"Now, be careful. There's three of you," I say as I open her door and take the utmost care to get her secured inside.

"You still love strapping me into things," she says, laughing, as I adjust her harnesses and belt to support the weight of the additional precious cargo she's carrying.

"That'll never change, baby." I wink, then lean in to give her a kiss. "And maybe if you're lucky, I'll strap you in more, later."

She smiles as I pull on her buckle and check that she's secure. I run my fingers in between the part in her coat and allow my forefinger to brush deliciously slow down the swell of her belly and then along her thigh. The evidence that she likes this is clear from her audible gasp and her left nipple that's hardening against the satin and just peeking out from beneath the wool of her coat. The evidence I like it is fighting for real estate in my pants. And trust me, it's New York City down there.

"Where are we going?" she asks, putting on her cans as I secure myself into the pilot's seat and put on my own.

"Impatient girl." I look over and smile, then shoot off my commands to Sea-Tac and within minutes we're airborne.

She's staring out the window, captivated by the city, as I take us up. I'm captivated by the size of her breasts and wondering how much milk they could possibly produce. Is it a lot more with twins? Or is more produced just because multiple mouths are sucking on them? And what if the breasts don't get womb to nipple notification that there's two? What if the body just thinks it's a fat kid and eventually cuts off service at the bar to stop diabetes? Will there be enough milk for my children? And will there be enough leftover for me? Oh god, there has to be enough for me, too. I haven't tasted that sweet nectar in years. I'm like a connoisseur anticipating a bottle of the finest one hundred year old Bordeaux to be opened and poured. Although, they look big enough to feed a town now and she's not even five months, so I think I'm safe. But, I better put that on my list of questions to ask Dr. Greene.

"What were you thinking?" she asks. Shit. Can she really read my kink fucked mind?

"When?" I ask, not sure I want to have the milk distribution discussion right now. She always gets pissed at me when I talk to Dr. Greene about sex stuff. But, her whole business is sex based. If no one had sex, she'd lose more than half her practice. Hell, if we didn't have sex she'd be out of a tax bracket. And I'm sure I'm not the only Dad who likes to latch on.

"That first night up here," she says.

Good, I'm safe. We'll save a visit from the milk man for another day. Hey, that's a good role play!

"Well, I certainly had trouble concentrating..." I say as downtown Seattle shines down below. "I was so nervous."

"You were nervous?"

"Uh, yeah." I have to laugh.

"You didn't seem nervous."

"It was the suit; it was made of bionic sweat wicking material." She laughs. "I tell you, it was that night I had full realization I had lost all control of my pores."

"Why were you so nervous?"

"Ana, I was showing you my helicopter."

"In more ways than one."

"Well, that was a high point of the evening, yes," I smirk. "But that aside, I was going to show you—a girl I was head-over-heels for— my playroom and ask you to be my submissive." I can't even say that word and Ana in the same sentence anymore without wanting to kick myself in the head—both of them.

"You were head-over-heels for me then?" she asks, softly, and I think she's touched.

I reach over, lift her hand and bring it to my lips.

"I was head-over-heels for you the moment you were head-over-heels on my floor." I kiss her knuckles and place them back in her lap, keeping hold of her hand for a moment longer. "I didn't even know you were a virgin yet and I was afraid as soon as you knew everything you'd run for the hills and I'd have to take you right back to that tool shop—"

"Clayton's," she laughs.

"Yeah, with the big tool himself—that fucker Paul. Whatever happened to him, anyway?"

"I don't know. I don't think he ever got married."

"Of course not. He's still waiting for you."

"He's not waiting for me!"

"Of course he is—they all are."

"Well, he or anyone else would have to wait forever." She wraps her fingers around my hand and squeezes it as she lovingly kisses my cheek, leaving me surprised I've not turned into a puddle of mush at her feet on the floor. Oh wait, I was wrong, there I am.

"That's not that much to ask to get you in the end," I say and she smiles, her skin glowing in the moonlight and the skyline reflecting in her eyes, just as it did that first night of many firsts.

"I love you so much, " I say, because I just have to say it.

"I love you so much, too."

As we soar above the Space Needle, I remember that night I told her we'd have dinner there when I feared all was lost. And we did—on our first date after our son was born.

"You know what I was thinking that first time up here?" she asks.

"That you hoped I wasn't a serial killer?"

"No." She shakes her head and smiling seductively reaches over and slowly runs her forefinger up and down my leg. My cock jumps. Damn, that feels nice. "What you looked like naked."

She traces the outline of my hardening shaft and I nearly lose all control of my controls. Both in the sky and down below. Fuck me now, why don't you?—Please!

"That's what you were thinking?" I ask, my voice actually squeaking like I'm back in puberty.

She nods and I swallow, wishing she was doing the same right about now.

"I wanted you," she says, lifting her fingers from my promised land and holds to my bicep as she leans her head on my shoulder.

"The feeling was most certainly mutual," I say and I kiss her head. Damn, is she driving me crazy tonight. I need to come in for a landing so I can come in for a landing.

"You know, talking to others, nobody's ever had a nipple orgasm before," she says.

"Well, we aim to please." I smile. But, then I get to thinking... "Wait, who have you been talking to about sex?" If she says the photographer I'll kill him, if only to remove the mental picture he took and stored in his self service hard drive.

"Well, Kate," she says. That doesn't surprise me. Elliot would never take the time to learn the art of nipple stimulation because there are no picture books on the subject and the rest of Kate's conquests were assembly line style. "And Mia..."

"Mia?" I ask, suddenly unnerved. "How the hell would Mia know anything about any of that?"

Ana stares at me like the brain just fell out of the second head I grew.

"Christian, she's my age."

"And?" I don't see her point.

"She dated Ethan for almost two years."

"So?"

"They lived together for three months in Paris."

"He had his own room."

She's twisting her mouth, obviously trying to hold back a laugh. Why is this funny? This is fact.

"Christian," she says, like she would talk to one of the children when they try to tell her candy has more nutritional value than broccoli. "They had sex."

"Who says?"

"Mia."

"Oh right, so you just automatically believe her and not your own husband?"

She laughs. "Your mother knows this."

"My mother? Please tell me you weren't talking about nipple orgasms with my mother."

"Don't worry. It was a different conversation."

"You've had more than one?!"

Ana laughs again, only bigger and more solidifying of my idiocy on the matter. Shit, this is really upsetting to me and she thinks it's hilarious. And since when is my mother having all these sexual conversations?

"Phoebe's boyfriends are never going to survive you," Ana says, shaking her head.

"Damn right! My motto is kill first, ask questions never."

She's still laughing! What's with all this laughter? This is reality. Nobody laughs when you tell them the earth is round or the sun is hot or fathers holding shotguns when their daughter's dates arrive prevents teenage pregnancy because the fucker is dead.

"Phoebe's never dating anyway," I say. "But please stop talking about it and spoiling my good mood. I still haven't gotten over all those cards." It's bad enough to think of my sister having any kind of sexuality. Phoebe is off limits. Never. Going. To. Happen.

 _Ever_.

"Okay, sorry," she says and kisses me on the side of the mouth. I cut my eyes to her, then point to the other side and she kisses me there, too.

"We're not headed to Portland?" Ana asks, looking down as Seattle escapes us and the water lies ahead.

"What?—you think all I can come up with for a romantic getaway is the Heathman? I thought we could go to an island off the coast."

"An island. That sounds romantic."

"I hope so. Because, that's your first gift."

"Oh, I love an island overnight!"

"No. The island."

"The island?" she asks. "You mean like we'll have it all to ourselves for our getaway?"

She's not getting it.

"No, like the whole thing is yours for the rest of your life."

She sits up and looks at me. "You're not saying you are actually giving me an island?"

I nod. "Named after you as well. It'll be on Google maps next week. It's like Hawaii, but with only two inhabitants and no pineapples."

"How can you buy a whole island?" she asks, looking at me like I'm a pineapple of gigantic proportions. Well, I guess if you're a pineapple, you might as well be the biggest on your own personal Hawaii.

"Easy. I bought all the land. It's yours. I mean, we don't have our own government or anything, but we can make all our own rules..." I raise a brow. I can think of one—no shirts, no shoes, lots of service.

"Just like that?" she asks.

I nod and snap my fingers to punctuate the point that I'm master of the universe to all and a slave of love to one.

"You're insane!" she laughs.

"This is true. But, I'm also practical."

"Practical? What's practical about purchasing an island?"

"Think about it. We're going to have four children soon. And as much as we both love them, we're going to need an escape from the chaos every now and again. And what better place to make uninterrupted, mad, passionate love than our own private island that's only a hop, skip and a Charlie Tango ride away from home?"

She stares at me for a moment. It's less pineapple and more should I call Flynn.

"You know that only makes sense in your mind."

"Ana, I told you at Versailles on our honeymoon that I would build a palace just to see the way the light hit your hair." I look over to her and brush her tumbling locks away from her moonlit face. "That goes for moonlight, too."

"Oh Christian," she says. "It's incredible. But, it's so much. People only dream of things like this."

It's true; people do. But, you're not people, you're mine."

She puts her hand to my cheek and leans in to give me a kiss that makes me swoon. Only Ana can sweep me off my feet when I'm already sky high.

"We can design it however you like," I say as we near our destination.

"It's an island, not a new kitchen!"

"There's a nice estate." Nice estate? It's like three times that of our home and we could fit few Disney theme parks on the land. "You'll need to figure out what you want. We can consult a new architect to do all that and Elliot can do the remodeling."

"New architect? Not Gia?"

"No. I don't want to deal with her again." The island is getting close; I can see it. "And no men, either. Unless they're either gay or ninety."

"What about gay and ninety?"

"My prayers will be answered! Though, I'm not sure he could see what he was planning at that age."

"Christian, you are crazy," she laughs. "But, you're my crazy." She kisses me again. "Thank you."

"Oh, Mrs. Grey, it's only the beginning," I say as we descend into a paradise that could only be named Anastasia.

#######

"You said this was a nice estate— it's a palace!" Ana says as we enter the lavish abode that is now our getaway shag shack beyond the blue. The entire place is covered in marble and wrought iron and the eggshell papered walls are edged in ornately carved wood painted in gold. With all the sculptures and statues and crystal chandeliers, I half expect Versailles to call and demand we give its opulence back.

I can see the water from the floor-to-ceiling windows. I can't wait until tomorrow; it's supposed to be an unseasonably nice day, so I'm going to fuck her all over the beach. I hope to find sand in my ass—and hers—for days to come. Maybe we can make a game of it. I can't wait for summer; I don't think we'll ever wear clothes.

"What, this old thing?," I tease, pulling her into my arms and bringing her mouth to mine. "Come..." I murmur against her lips.

"Well, you just cut right to the chase, don't you, Mr. Grey?" She smirks and raises a brow.

"Cute. But, I want show you something."

"That's usually how these things start out." She giggles.

"Mrs. Grey," I put a finger to her lips and twist my mouth to try and fight my grin, but the grin has the knockout strength of an '86 Tyson. "Enough of that smart mouth. I have another surprise for you."

"Another one?" she asks, appropriately surprised, as I take her hand and lead us into the great room (whoever the fuck lived here gilded everything), through a set of double doors (gilded!); that eventually take us outside and onto a candlelit stone path that leads to a house in the meadow that's made almost entirely of glass.

I open the doors and usher her inside to a fairytale world painted with twinkle lights, countless flowers and a sweetheart table, in the middle of it all, romantically set for two.

"Oh Christian, this is stunning," she says, as her eyes dance around the gazebo above us. "This is just like that rose garden in London we loved on our honeymoon."

"Almost to the letter, except for the flowers..." I motion to the roses growing in abundance around us and pick one in particular off of a bush and hand it to her.

"My roses!" she says, in sudden recognition of the bloom I created in her name on our wedding day, as her hand cups the flower and the other hand's fingers trace the petal edges.

"Yes, and the hybrids I had created for Teddy and Phoebe on the days they were born," I point to the other rose bushes. "I thought it would be special to have a place we could come to where our love grows—literally."

"Oh, Christian. This is everything," she says, her eyes misting as she looks out onto the flowers.

"No, it's more," I say and move my fingers to brush away the teardrop on her cheek.

I move to the sweetheart table and lift a vase from the center that contains two single white roses. "When we know the sex of the babies, we'll create a hybrid that's unique for each of them and plant them in the garden with the others. But, I figured I'd give you these two, since that's what I gave you the first time I gave you flowers."

"Christian..." She holds her hand to her mouth, as she starts to weep. "The way you love me and our family is... It takes my breath away."

"Trust me, Ana, all of this is nothing compared to what you give to me." I touch her belly, then her face and brush away another teardrop that's fallen onto her cheek with my thumb.

"Now, no more tears," I say as I lift a remote control off the table and turn on some Sinatra we got quite frisky to one rainy afternoon at my office.

"I remember this, quite deliciously well," she says, smiling with a raised brow. Naughty, sweet, everything Ana.

"Well, there will be time for all that shortly," I say. But first, I'd like to have dinner with my wife in our garden.

I lead her to the sweetheart table and pull out her chair, stopping for a moment to kiss the top of her head before I push her in.

"I'm famished!" she says.

"Now, you're really trying to turn me on," I say as I move to my seat.

"Voila, I say, lifting our silver tray tops to reveal our dinner of bone-in rib eye and asparagus tips and a special side dish of macaroni and cheese.

"This is the perfect meal," she laughs.

"Well, I would've gotten oysters if you weren't pregnant, but I figured you could entertain me with the asparagus."

"Whatever do you mean, Mr. Grey?" She lifts one with her fingers and sucks the tip. My tip is standing at attention, hoping to get in line.

The dinner is phenomenal. The Mile High Club outdid itself, though the vegetarian lunch with Phoebe and the barnyard lovers was superb as well. We eat and talk and laugh. I once told her I didn't date or give flowers. And to think I risked missing out on this night, at this table, and the smell of these roses.

"Now, I'm stuffed," she says, pressing her napkin to the sides of her mouth to clean up and I'm pleased to see she's finished her plate. Talk about foreplay.

"I'm glad it was to your liking." I take her hand and play with her fingers, bringing each tip to my mouth and sucking them clean.

"Here, before we begin our evening, I have something for you," she says, once I'm done with her fingertips.

"Ana, you didn't have to get anything for me. You and the children made me those lovely cards and all those pink and chocolate frosted cupcakes." The pink ones with sprinkles and jellybeans were from Phoebe and the chocolate with smushed Oreos were from Teddy, because he said it looked like his favorite thing—dirt.

"Of course I did," she says as she finds her purse, pulls out a small envelope and hands it to me.

I open it and there's a card with a water color painting on the front of me, Teddy and Phoebe all sleeping in a wicker chair on the porch that faces the ocean, my arms wrapped tightly around them as they curl to my chest.

"Ana—" I breath, barely able to catch it again.

"Open the card," she says.

I open it and there's a quote written in practiced calligraphy in the center:

" _All, everything that I understand, I only understand because I love."_

 _— Leo Tolstoy_

 _And I only understand it because of you._

 _I love you for our more,_

 _Ana xo_

I'm speechless for a long moment, just staring at the words and flipping back to see the watercolor again.

"Where did you get this beautiful picture?" I ask, my voice cracking with emotion.

"I took it last summer. I thought it was the sweetest thing I'd ever seen and I wanted to give it to you, but not just as a snapshot. So, I had an artist paint a watercolor of the photo."

"Oh Ana, I love it. I'll frame this card and put it up in my office right away."

"That would be lovely, but this is my next surprise—a full-sized real painting is waiting for you at Escala."

"What? Why Escala?"

"You told me you wanted to get rid of the Madonna and child paintings and put up pictures of our family..."

"Yes, but I want to put up pictures of you and our children. You're their mother. You're the important one."

She closes her eyes and a tear escapes.

"Oh Christian, you don't see enough how important you are to them. To all of us." She touches her belly. "I wanted to give you this so you could be reminded of that every time you look at it. "

"Oh Ana." I stand, move to her and pull her up into my arms. "I never knew I could be a good father."

"I know," she brushes the side of my head. "But I always did."

And I tilt her chin and bring her lips to mine, pouring everything I'm feeling into our kiss. I need to show her what I feel for her; how I need her; how I love her.

"Let's go upstairs," I say, breathless against her mouth.

"No dessert?"

"Oh no, you're dessert tonight, Mrs. Grey." I kiss her again, then take her hand and guide her as we climb our marble staircase together to the master suite.

"Open this," I say as we stand at the foot of the red rose petal covered four poster king-sized bed.

"You've already given me an island and a palace and a rose garden..."

"Well, this is as much for me as it is for you." I smile.

Ever curious, she raises a brow.

"Have you been to your favorite toy store?

"Two of them."

I hand her a wrapped package that's set on an end table and she opens it to find a red box she's more than familiar with. She lifts the lid and out of the tissue she pulls out my creation—a bra and panties covered in diamonds and rubies and clusters of white pearls. Covered is strong word. I had this set designed in a joint collaboration with two of my favorite toy stores—La Perla and Cartier—to cover as little as possible.

"Oh Christian, this necklace is stunning!" she says, holding the diamond thong end of the bejeweled panties up. "Wait, there's two necklaces!" She holds up the bra. "Do I wear both at once?"

I can't help but laugh and she frowns at my response, definitely not realizing where my laughter is coming from.

"Yes, I want you to wear them now. But, they're not necklaces," I say as I take the bra from her hand, hook the straps around my fingers, then hold it up the proper way against her chest. "They're your wardrobe for this evening."

She's silent, staring at it for a long moment. Too long. I'm not sure if I should pull it away from her chest or not, so I stand there, awkwardly remaining awkward. How did this suddenly become so, for lack of a better word, awkward?

"I'm supposed to wear this?" she asks softly, taking it from my hands and holding it up in examination. She looks as if I told her I wanted to stick a rocket up her ass and fire it off. Of course I do, but only metaphorically speaking.

"Yes." I stroke the thong-back diamonds, lifting it from the box she's still holding. "These go in the back."

"This goes there?" she squeaks. Why is she so shy all of a sudden? In the old days I could understand, but she was spread eagle to kingdom come—or rather, queendom come loudly— last night and begging for the vibrating butt plug on level five. And it only goes to level four!

"Yes," I whisper in her ear. "And I can't wait to see it there..." I reach around her and run my finger up and down the crease of her ass through the satin of the dress. "And, I can't wait to lick every jewel before I take everything off and tongue you bare."

What I expect is for her to giggle and blush as I tip her chin back for a earth shattering kiss and slowly undress her, so she can get into the little ensemble and I can undress her again. But, what I get is something entirely different. She stands there, looks down and then away, folding her hands across her body, almost as if to hide it from me.

"Ana," I say, alarmed at the way she's closing me off. "What's wrong?" Is she upset I spent so much money on her? But, she's my wife. She knows I like to shower her with gifts. She hasn't made a deal of this since that first car debacle.

She steps away from me and to the floor-to-ceiling picture window that looks out over the moonlit water.

"I can't wear this," she says, after a far too long silence and my world stands still at the prospect she doesn't want me.

"Why not?" I whisper, then move toward her and place my hands on her shoulders. "You don't like it?"

"It's beautiful, and romantic, and would be perfect, but..." She sighs, then turns back to face me. "Christian, if you haven't noticed, I'm nearly five months pregnant with twins."

"So?"

"So?" She looks exasperated with me. "I'm huge."

"So?" I ask again, but with more kick on the question mark this time. Why is she saying this? Doesn't she realize how fucking hot that makes me? God, the feeling of her ass in my hands when she rode my face last night was mind blowing. It's like having your cakes and eating one, too.

"But, I can't fit into something this exposing and tight? I'll feel too fat for you."

"Too fat for me? I've been trying to get you fat for years!"

She rolls her eyes and I hope I can use it for ammunition later. But, it's not looking good.

"Ana, listen to me. You're sexy as all get out!"

She looks at me a long moment, then puts her hands on my waist and dips her head and rests her forehead against my shoulder.

"Oh Christian, that's sweet of you to say, but—"

Is she crying? I think those were sniffles.

I lift her chin with my fingers and see the tears that have pooled in her eyes.

"I just saw you naked this morning. We fucked twice in the shower. You weren't like this, then."

"Yes, but naked at home is different than this." She holds up the jewels. "I'm not fit to be like a showgirl."

"Trust me, no showgirl has Cartier underwear!"

I hold her head with both hands and bring her eyes to mine. "Ana, what is this about? We're well before your due date. We had sex all the time when you were nine months pregnant with Phoebe and Teddy. Heck, I broke your water with Teddy!"

She snorts a laugh. At least it lightened the mood. But, why does everyone think that's such a joke? We fucked, she flooded, we had a kid.

"I'm twice as big, twice as fast with the twins," she says. "Instead of five months, I'm practically ten!"

"I know, it's so fucking hot. My fantasies can't keep up." She laughs. "Ana, it's true. I wasn't going to make a deal of it, but I talked to Flynn about all this. How I've been feeling since you've been getting so big, so fast... And, I've been formally diagnosed with a pregnancy kink."

"What?"

"It's true. But, only for you. You don't have to worry about me looking at other pregnant women with sexual thoughts."

"I'm glad for that." At least she's smiling now.

"I can't stop thinking about your round body." I lean in and rest my forehead to hers; my hands holding to her hips. "Do you know how sexy I find it when you're pregnant with my babies. I think it's something from my formative years, seeing you caring for my children that are growing inside of you... It makes me painfully hot for you."

"Painfully?"

"Ana, feel what you do to me." I take her hand and brush it across my hardening erection. "You drive me mad." I touch her cleavage. "Ana, please, don't deny me the pleasure of looking at your body." I run my fingertips down her chest, to her breasts and to her hardening peaks. "I want to see and feel and taste every inch of you..."

I lean into her neck and kiss her and to my delight she relaxes and tilts her head to the side, giving me more access. I then move my lips down onto her shoulder; tasting each inch with my tongue as I slide my thumbs under the thin straps of her dress and pull them off her shoulders. Her breasts heave forth out of the fabric and I move my lips across their ample swell.

"This is mine," I say, sliding my hands down her satin wrapped body.

"Yes, yours," she says, quivering as my fingers just brush her sex.

"Let me make love to you Ana," I say as I worship her neck. "Let me show you what you do to me."

"Yes," she breathes just before I take her mouth with mine. And all the fear and apprehension she had seem to melt away with our kiss.

I feel her before I see her and then I hear her. The kissing of her high heels on the marble floor reverberates in my body. Each tap of her stilettos turning me on more. I close my eyes for a second and listen, nearly exploding at the sound of her high heels alone.

"You are so stunning," I groan, as I turn and my eyes feast on the bounty of her body. She's dazzling. I don't even see the jewels; all I see is her.

I can see that she's shy, so I stride slowly toward her and when I reach her, I hold both hands to her face and kiss her. The passion coursing through me is begging to explode.

Still kissing her, I pull one hand from her cheek and run the tips of my finger from her chin to her chest and across her breasts, traveling over her belly until just reaching the diamond studded panty edge covering her sex. I trace the outline of the panties with my finger and she moans in my mouth.

I need to see her.

I slowly circle her, with predator intent, wanting to get a good view of every inch of her. It does not disappoint. I stop, facing her back, and draw my fingertip down her spine as I kiss the top of her shoulder. I can see the little hairs on her arms stand on end.

"Breathtaking," I whisper as I move her hair away and bring my lips to her neck and then retrace the path my finger just travelled down her spine with my mouth.

I drop to my knees and cup her behind, then run my tongue along each diamond on the thong at the part of her cheeks. Feeling my tongue explore her ass, she shudders. I think she may come.

But not yet...

"Oh baby, what I'm going to do to you," I say as I stand back up. "I can't wait to tie you up and fuck you properly," I whisper into her ear as I grab a piece of red satin from the bedside table and run it across my opposite hand.

I lead her to the rose petal covered bed, helping her lie on her back and propping her with pillows so I know that she's comfortable. The sight of her perfect jewel adorned body placed on a king's bed of roses is enough for me to explode.

But, I want this slow...

"It's like I'm wrapping my own Valentine's present," I say as I tie her wrists together with the satin piece and then put them over her head.

"Isn't the fun in unwrapping presents?" she asks, squirming and giggling and making me so hard.

"Oh, you have no idea, baby."

Once secured, I place a black velvet mask over her eyes and turn on a piece of music we heard at an opera last spring that she said she wanted to fuck to. Being the true dominant that I am, I frantically searched for it on iTunes so I could fulfill her request.

I gaze down and admire her splayed open to me. Lord, the look of her. Her legs and her breasts and the beautiful swell at her middle that tells the world she is carrying my children that are completely made out of our love. It's hard to believe any of this is really all mine.

I crawl onto the bed, over her, and run my tongue along the the edges of her panties, stopping to suck each precious jewel along the way. She bucks when I stop and circle the special ruby just above her own and I know it's because she can feel my warm, wet tongue just teasing the edges of the stone where the lace is.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are," I say as I hook my fingers in the sides of her panties and pull them up and in a little to give me more access to her lips.

"Mmmm. You make me feel beautiful, " she smiles and so do I.

"You've freshly waxed, Mrs. Grey?" I groan, pulling the panties to the side and running my fingers up and down her soft bare lips.

"Happy Valentine's Day," she smiles and I inhale deeply; my cock is no longer willing to be contained in my pajama pants, so I take them off and throw them onto a chair across the room.

"Well, I think I should investigate this. Make sure I don't have to clean anything up with my razor." She giggles as I hook my fingers into the side bands of her panties and she tilts her hips upward allowing me to slide them off and I discard a quarter of a million worth of jewels in a used laundry pile on the floor.

"This looks very nice," I say, running my tongue up and down her soft mound. "I think you did a good job." I run my tongue down the center of her, paying extra special attention to her swollen bud.

"Oh god, I need to come," she says, pulling against the satin tying her hands.

I hold her hips down as she bucks and I continue my tormenting for awhile, bringing her to the edge and back several times. I want her to come like a dam bursting in my mouth. There's nothing more intimate than when I can feel her warm and quiver and wet against my tongue.

I take two fingers and slide them inside of her, moving them in and out of her, as I continue to flick my tongue against her clitoris.

"Come for me, Ana," I say when she's just on the precipice and she quakes at my command. I cut my eyes up to watch this sight to truly behold.

Once the aftershocks of what looks like an orgasm of epic proportions subside, I kiss my way up her body, brushing her skin with my fingers as I go. The diamond edged triangles that cover her breasts are barely holding on for dear life and I'm excitedly planning their funeral.

"I need you like I need food and drink, Ana." I kiss my way over her chest. "But, you taste better than both." I take the pearled clasp at the center of the bra and pull so it lets loose and her breasts free. I don't waste time; I find each succulent nipple with my mouth and devour them.

"Oh Christian," she cries out as I take one with my teeth and mercilessly pull and twist.

I can't take it any longer.

"I want to be inside of you," I say, brushing my lips against hers and then pouring out my need for her in a kiss.

"Yes," she exhales.

I place myself at her entrance and thrust inside of her.

"You feel so good, Ana," I moan.

She feels like home.

I move in and out of her and in a rush of passion, I change the course of my plan to keep her eyes covered and slide the mask up and off of her and throw it onto the floor.

"I want to see you when we come together," Mrs. Grey. " I move a hand to the satin bow that ties her wrists. "And I want you to touch me."

I untie it and her hands immediately find my hair and my back and my chest as her tongue invades my mouth and I return the favor. And like fireworks we explode as one.

I didn't plan that, it just happened. Like everything with Anastasia nothing ever happens exactly as I planned. And I couldn't be a happier son of a bitch.

#######

"That was delectable," I say, as Ana and I sit propped up in bed sharing a tub of Ben and Jerry's Ana's.

"You like the ice cream?" she asks, dipping her spoon in to take some of the dessert.

"It's my favorite flavor," I smile with vanilla melting on my tongue. "Well, besides you." I bring my cold, sweet lips to hers and she smiles against my mouth as I kiss her. "Actually, I was talking about our lovemaking." I put my spoon into the carton and touch her face. "That was unbelievable." I smile, my eyes softly taking her in. She's in my t-shirt now and she looks just as dazzling as when she was in the bejeweled bra.

"It couldn't have been more special."

"Well, I won't say that..." I say and she frowns. "Because there's always more with you." I kiss her nose and she smiles and I smile and we smile even more.

"Why are you smiling so much?" she asks, smiling as she sets her spoon in the carton and I set the whole thing on the bedside table.

"Because I just got laid by the hottest girl on the planet." I kiss her head and she giggles as I pull her closer and softly stroke her back as she curls against my chest, placing her hand right over my heart. We lay like this for awhile, until I can tell by her breathing that she's fallen asleep. I know this from the many times I've watched her at night and held her and fell asleep myself to the rhythm of her breath.

As she sleeps, I start thinking about firsts. I already loved her that first night, but I didn't know it yet. I also didn't know yet what it felt like to make love to her body in its changing forms, or to have an argument that I didn't have to win (in fact, it rarely happens at all), or to go out for huckleberry pie because she had a craving at three in the morning. I didn't know what it would be like to see her eyes and my smile on the face of our daughter, or my copper tipped locks and her laugh lighting the eyes of our son. Or to wonder what our babies will look like, holding to each other before night kisses dawn, when she can't sleep because the pie gave her indigestion and I brush her hair as she lays her cheek to my chest and I watch as she finally falls asleep, much like now. That first night we made love feels like a million years ago and just yesterday all at once. It's like nothing has changed, but everything.

That's the funny thing about firsts with Anastasia; they have a habit of becoming forevers.


	6. Chapter 6

**_This is a story I was late on writing, but thought I'd go ahead and post here, since some of you asked me about an Easter story. It's two parts and I figured that since Easter happens on April 17th in 2019 (the year this would take place) I'm actually early.;)_**

 ** _And I PROMISE to have a Darker update soon and one for the baby story as well. I know a lot of you have been asking. I appreciate your interest so much and love reading your comments and messages!_**

 ** _And the sex of the twins and stuff will be revealed in another part to this Hearts and Flowers story (not the Easter part), so stay tuned._**

 ** _Thanks for reading! Enjoy! xo_**

"Why do we have to hide the eggs in our yard?" I ask as I sit at the kitchen table helping Ana cut out sugar cookie bunnies she's baking for the springtime celebration tomorrow. Gail's off today, so I got thrust into this situation by the promise of another type of thrusting situation later. And let me tell you, I'm terrible at this cookie shit. It looks all sweet and innocent from the outset, but it's pure evil. Who knew it would be so easy to over-flour and over-roll and for body parts to tear off. I think I've re-wadded this ball of dough twelve times to try and get these right, and still Peter has no cottontail and his friend can't hear him complain about it because his ears fell off the table.

"It's a tradition," Ana says, shimmying around in her frilly little apron over that silky little dress of hers. She's doing this on purpose to incentivize me and fuck, it's working. She looks like she stepped right out of a fifties sit-com as the perfect doting pregnant housewife. Except in this light I can see the outline of her bra through the back of that dress, and looking down south, I don't think Harriet ever wore matching La Perla black lace crotchless panties for Ozzie.

Damn is she driving me crazy.

"Yes, let's hide them for our kids, not every snot nose at the school," I say, wondering if there's any way I can fuck her quick over the counter. But shit, the kids are watching their movie in the next room. But, they're watching their movie... And she has the short dress on with the crotchless panties... Fuck, my cottontail fell off again!

"Didn't we just do this at Christmas?" I ask. I half expect Tilly to come as herself tomorrow—a hard boiled egg who thinks she's an omelet.

"The moms thought it would be fun if we had the hunt in our meadow."

"Of course they did; they're probably also hoping I'll be wearing a bunny tail with my ass stuck up in the air and hopping around where the she-wolf pack can strike."

"Actually, they have someone for that," Ana says, putting her perfectly formed dough rabbits onto cookie sheets. She's so good handling those ears; they never fall off. Fuck, I just got hard again imagining her other handling skills.

"What do you mean they have someone? What'd they call, Rent-a-Rabbit?"

She laughs and shakes her head.

"You know that new little boy, Clayden Malloy?" she asks. What's with the "aydens", anyway? Why are parents so eager to put any other name in front of it and call it a name? It was bad enough when every third boy was a Jayden or Brayden, but now these parents are just making this shit up.

"You mean that kid with the fucked up bowl cut?"

"Christian!"

"What? I feel sorry for the boy; that haircut is child abuse." I just gave a full head-cut to my thirteenth try.

"Well, his father is going to play Hoppy Tailingsworth." She giggles. "Isn't that cute?"

I stop re-balling my dough for a moment to soak what she just said in. Am I dreaming this insanity currently?

"Did you just giggle at another man's name for his rabbit act?" I ask as I wad my dough hard and pound it down onto the table, imagining I'm flattening this Hoppy giggle inducing fuck under my R8 tire. Nobody makes my wife giggle and gets away with it.

"No, it's not an act; he's a real Easter Bunny," she says.

"What the hell does that mean?" Am I drunk? Hearing this craziness, I'm trying to remember if I downed a bottle of jack and forgot.

"He plays one at malls and parties. He went to school and has a certificate and everything."

"What kind of outfit hands out Easter Bunny degrees?"

"I'm not sure, but he's offered to donate his time and his costume to the festivities."

"He has his own costume?" I ask and she nods. "Like in his closet all the time?" She nods again. What the hell? I squish the dough through my fingers after I fist my hand at the thought of this pervert and his rabbit gear.

"What happened to the simple party at the school?" I ask.

"They were going to do that, but Bill came up with idea of a meadow egg hunt and thought our house would be perfect for it."

"Did he now?" I grit my teeth. "He came up with the idea? He just offered up our house for his games?"

"He didn't offer anything up. He heard the moms talk about our Christmas party and he suggested it."

"Don't you find that odd?"

"No. He plays the Easter Bunny at egg hunts all over. He's done it for years."

"Well, so have rapists and murderers."

She rolls her eyes and pissed off, I pull up too fast on my fifteenth try and it's complete cookie carnage.

"He's a nice man," she says.

"So are rapists and murderers!" I say and she laughs, like its a joke. "It's true; the neighbors always say that on the news. When was the last time you heard of a complete asshole that committed a violent crime?"

"So, what exactly are you saying, Christian?"

"That people who play holiday characters are deranged and dangerous."

"You've played plenty."

"Yes, but I was swept up into it by the kids and you and the school. I didn't go out seeking Santa Claus work. I certainly didn't go to college for it to earn a degree. It was thrust upon me."

"Like greatness?" She laughs.

"Very funny. But this is all highly suspicious."

"What is?"

"A guy who just comes to town and just so happens to be a professional Easter Bunny on the side and gets involved with the moms group and then comes up with the idea to use our house for his hippity hop hop act..."

"What's your conspiracy? He's trying to murder us?"

"He wants to have sex with you, Ana."

"What?" She laughs. "Where on earth did you get that from? I've only had three conversations with the man."

"Three?! What could you possibly have to talk with him about three times?"

"The party."

"Exactly! And that's why he suggested it. To have alone time with you, conversations, planning, meetings at secretive locations."

"Secretive locations? We've only talked at the school."

"Well, I didn't know about it and I'm investigating everything all the time, so it was a secret to me! And that's pretty damn stealth. He wants to seduce you, Ana."

"I'm six months pregnant, Christian."

"And? That's just icing on the cake!"

"You and your overprotective pregnancy kink are overreacting. Men generally don't go after other men's pregnant wives."

"They do if they're the hottest piece of ass on earth and they're mine. Trust me, Ana, everyone wants my hot ass."

She shakes her head and laughs.

"Don't laugh; this is a tragedy not a comedy. This man has no history with this school. He's never been involved in a production. And suddenly he's the star of the show?"

"Christian, you're acting like you wanted to play the Easter Bunny."

I look down, not saying anything, just staring at my dead bunny dreams in the wreck of my dough.

"Is this what this is about? Are you upset they didn't ask you?" she asks, softly. I won't admit it, but I am a bit hurt. Didn't they like my Ham? Or Santa? Or my Thanksgiving performance on that boat? I suspect that it's because the Easter bunny has no sexual orientation to speak of and Tilly won't have an excuse to wife me up and maul me, so she'd rather have easy access to sexually harass me at the buffet table. Her two favorite things—my ass and her ass eating.

"It crossed my mind," I say. "I mean, it's become tradition."

"Don't feel bad. They just chose him because he has the suit," Ana says, trying to lessen the blow.

"I can get a suit, Ana. We're billionaires, trust me we can afford a bunny costume. Hell, I can get Thumper straight off the Disney lot."

"You know, I can get a bunny costume, too," she says with a raised brow and a wiggle as she walks her tray over to the oven, bends over seductively and puts it in. I want to put something in that oven.

"What does that mean, Mrs. Grey?"

"You'll have to wait until the Easter celebration is over," she smirks.

"You're trying to get me off the subject."

"Is it working?"

"I don't know, what were we talking about?"

She smiles and then walks over, sits in my lap and wraps her arms around my neck.

"Christian, don't worry, everything will be fine."

She gives me a kiss and I officially give up on my wad of dough to kneed something else.

"Ana, how can I not worry?" I ask as I stroke her breasts through that apron and the silk of her dress. "My life is worrying about you and our kids." I move my hand down to her belly.

"I know, but we're okay." She puts her hand over mine and kisses me again, shimmying around on my lap, teasing my growing erection. "How can I convince you of that?"

"Why don't we go upstairs so you can try?" I ask against her mouth, knowing full well it won't change my verdict, but damn, I'm looking forward to the trial.

"But, we have cookies to bake," she says as I kiss her neck and inhale her intoxicating scent. She's so sweet.

"Fuck the cookies," I whisper and nip her earlobe, then devour her mouth with mine.

"Daddy!" Phoebe says, running in with Teddy and startling Ana and I out of our romantic moment.

"Gross, they're kissing again!" Teddy says.

"What did I tell you two about knocking?" I ask as Ana giggles into my neck. At least her giggle is mine again.

"We gotta knock before we go to the kitchen?" Teddy asks. I guess he's right, those are just the rules for our bedroom.

"I thought you two were watching your movie," I say.

"Yeah. They founded Nemo," Phoebe says.

"Well, that's a relief," I say.

"Oooh, my cookies," Ana says after her timer goes off and tries to get up, but the babies are beginning to make springing up for her difficult. Thankfully I work out with Claude and I'm able to help her to her feet with relative ease. I don't know how string bean fathers-to-be do it.

"What have you been making?" I ask, taking one of Phoebe's hands and looking at her sparkle fingers.

"I was glittering my Easter basket for the party that I'm gonna put all of the Easter Bunny eggs in."

"Don't take any eggs from that rabbit!" I say and Ana swats my arm, giggling, as she passes to tend to her cookies. I've given up the dough dreams long go. I kind of feel sorry for my lump of cookie material; it'll never live up to it's potential.

"It's time to decamorate the eggs now, Daddy!" Phoebe says.

"Yeah, and tomorrow we dig them up out of the dirt," Teddy says, so excited by the prospect.

"But first, you have to color them,"Ana says as she picks up a bowl full of hard boiled eggs from the counter and hands it to me. There are so many of them, it's like she robbed the hopes of an entire population of springtime chickens of ever having young.

"We're gonna have an Easter eggs color party in the barn with Boone!" Phoebe says. "He's hosting it as his house!"

"Boone gives the best parties," Teddy says and the kids dance around in celebration of turkey time.

"Christian, are you sure you're okay to do this alone?" Ana whispers to me.

"Ana," I whisper back, so the kids don't hear, but they're busy blowing fart sounds with their mouths and laughing about which is the grossest. And Phoebe's winning! "As long as there's no cooking," I point to my sad lump of dough. "I'll be fine."

"No; there's no cooking involved. It's just a little food coloring and water."

"Then, trust me. I've got this covered."

#######

Covered as in dirt on my grave. I'm sitting in front of eight bowls of water, a lemon, a bottle of vinegar and a box of holiday color with some high looking cartoon rabbits on the front that are supposed to be decorating an egg in their white picket fence cottage, but it looks more like they're sharing a bong in Granny's kitchen. This Easter Bunny shit makes no sense to me. Why are bunnies in a traditional housing situation coloring chicken eggs and then hiding them in the lawn, anyway? If that doesn't prove it's really a bong, then nothing else does. And what the fuck is this bottle of vinegar for?!

"Fritzy said last year they buried the eggs and they thought they founded all of them, but their dog founded one they missed and he brought it inside to dinner and all the family thought his dad farted bad 'cause he does that when he sneaks cheese," Teddy says as we sit at the dining table at Boone's bachelor pad apartment with Phoebe, Chester and our turkey host for the forthcoming festivities himself.

"Trust me, I know," I say. "I sat next to him at the talent show after the ice cream social." It was loud and deadly all night long. That, and having to listen to the chopsticks version of _Mary Had a Little Lamb_ on the piano fourteen times by that O'Leary girl, nearly ushered in my early demise.

"You gotta wear these ones, Daddy," Phoebe says, putting gigantic pink sparkle bunny ears with two baby chicks dangling on each side that chirp and light up, on my head.

"What's this for?" I ask as I adjust them on my mop. Damn they're heavy. And every time I turn my head the chicks swing and whack me in the eyes. How am I going to decorate eggs in this thing? I feel like that woman who had to balance a bowl of fruit on her head while singing and shaking her cha-chas.

"Because you're the leader of the bunny peoples and you have sponsibility of all of the eggs of the world," Phoebe says.

"Sounds like a big job."

"Yeah. You gotta make sure all of the world gets chocolates, too. Even the turtles and the sea horseys and all of the most beautifulist pegasuses."

Geez, I thought GEH had responsibilities...

"Turtles eat chocolate?" I ask.

"Well, not so much, but you gotta give it to them so they won't be sad of the frog's candies."

"Of course," I say. I guess frogs really score at Easter.

"Boone, you get to pick the first egg," Phoebe says, as Boone, dressed in a blue and yellow polka dot satin cape with white lace ruffled edges, stares down at the bowl of hard boileds that's set in front of him. He looks like he's on his way to a costume party as either a metrosexual superhero or a shower curtain. Hey that's funny—a bird bath.

"Why does he go first?" I ask as I look around at his digs. This bird has the life. Phoebe gave the interior decorator drawings of exactly what his bachelor pad should be like. He's got an entertainment center with a 60" mounted flat screen (set to Animal Planet because Phoebe wants him to make friends and see the world); a personal chef that delivers gourmet seed cuisine; and a fully equipped gym and spa so he won't get fat or stressed from sitting in his ergonomic recliner watching the TV and eating the seeds.

"He picks first 'cause they're his family," she says.

"So, it's a respect thing?" I ask and she nods.

"Yeah," Teddy says. "And he can help us pick the good ones, 'cause when you're family you can tell which ones got cracks in their heads and which ones are rotted more easy."

True; Elliot's been known by the family to be cracked in the head for years. And he married Ms. Rot, herself.

Chester, dressed in overalls of the same pattern as Boone's cape and a white sweater whose turtleneck collar looks like a blooming flower that his head is the daisy center of, has decided he's through with eggs and has moved on to a plate of those rabbit sugar cookies Ana's made us and grabs one. I try to shoo him away, but he stands up and hisses, chomping his teeth and waving his arm to make sure I know exactly where I need to fuck off to. Oh to hell with it, have the cookie!

"Okay Boone, what's the verdict?" I ask and we all watch, but instead of deciding on something, he just bobs his head up and down, almost as if he's hearing a hip-hop beat in his mind. Ice Biggie Boone-Dawg starts to check out all the eggs, bobbing down on the majority of them, but never committing to one. He just loses interest after a quick peck, flaps his feathers as he leaves the table and returns to watching some show about exotic flamingos in his recliner. Typical male.

"I think Boone says they're all good," I say, trying to smooth the afternoon along. With the state of the art bachelor pad, the flat screen and the peck 'em and leave 'em mentality, I think Boone may be Elliot's true spirit animal.

"How do we do the eggs, Daddy?" Teddy asks. And it's a tough question.

"Well," I say, looking at the boxed coloring kit, vinegar bottle, whole lemon and eight little bowls of water set on the table before us. Shit, I have no idea. I figure there's some sort of coloring squeeze bottle dripper thing we add to the water that's in the box, but what the fuck am I supposed to do with the vinegar and lemon? Why does this feel like that dream where you're suddenly back in high school on the day of the big chemistry final and you realize you haven't read a word of the textbook or attended a day of class all year? "I think we should open the box."

I think that is of no help. I've opened the box, looking for divine guidance from the Wizards of Paas, only to find all these antacid looking color tablets and a list of instructions that looks like it was typed in some back room in some factory by a person who speaks primarily Swahili and stuffed haphazardly inside. Or maybe it just looks like Swahili because I don't know what the fuck any of this means. This whole thing is like an Easybake meth lab.

"Instruction One: Start with clean, cool hard boiled eggs," I read aloud. "Put them in a dry area and pick out your colors." Okay, sounds simple enough.

I set the antacid tablets by the bowl of eggs.

"How are the eggs clean if they come out of chicken's butts, Dad?" Teddy asks.

"Because your mother washed them."

"Eww, butt eggs are like poopy breakfasts," Phoebe says and the kids both laugh.

"Instruction Two," I read. "Separate your colors and set them individually by their designated bowls of water." Why is this beginning to sound like a list of demands from a hostage situation? "For traditional pastels add three tablespoons of lemon juice to water plus the color tablet of your choosing." Fuck, I gotta cut the lemon. I thought I didn't have to cook.

"What are past tells?" Teddy asks.

"They're when you telled something secret to your bestest friend before a week ago," Phoebe says.

"That..." I say. "And, they're colors." I try to slice this lemon with this kid friendly knife Ana has laid out. I'd have more luck slicing through it with the back of a plastic spoon.

"Like red and brown?" Teddy asks.

"No, they're like pale pink and purple and yellow..." I say.

"Why do the eggs gotta be all girly colors?" Teddy asks.

"'Cause they're the pretty ones," Phoebe says. "And when peoples look in the grasses, they wanna find rainbow surprises." I used to think that, too, until Mia's childhood dog ate a box of crayons and the bottom of my shoe found that rainbow surprise when it wasn't looking.

"There are no such thing as boy colors or girl colors," I say, trying to discourage gender assignment to hues, but knowing full well I believed the same thing at six. "Pastels are spring colors. Like you'd see in the flowers and the grass and..." Where the hell else? "The set-up at the grocery store with the jelly beans and the peeps."

"I love the peeps!" Phoebe says, throwing her arms in the air in celebration of marshmallow chicken-kind everywhere. "But, I don't like to eat off their heads, cause then they can't see no more." So, that's why I found seven decapitated peep heads lined in a row on the window sill of the kitchen nook looking out onto the yard. And to think I was about to have Taylor investigate a threat.

Finally, after much adieu, I slice the lemon and the paper cut I got on Friday at the office feels my accomplishment first. Fuck, now what do I do with this lemon? I need three tablespoons of juice for each. Ana's set out some measuring spoons, so I lift them up to read which one is which, but all I see are TSP and TBSP written faintly on the handles. What the fuck does that mean? Is it code? Neither one of them look like a spoon I'd use at the table, unless I was on a diet and trying to make myself believe I was getting more cereal than I actually was. Fuck it, I got a big lemon, so I decide to squeeze an even value of juice into all the bowls.

"Instruction Three: For ultra violet eggs, add three tablespoons vinegar." I look to the kids. "Do we want ultra violet eggs?" How the fuck does vinegar make that happen? Isn't that like the sun? Doesn't UV give you cancer?

"I don't want super purple eggs!" Teddy says.

What?—oh, _ultra violet._

"No, I think it means neon," I say.

"Eggs don't have knees, so they can't put them on stuff, Daddy," Phoebe says.

"You're right; forget the neon."

"I want rainbow eggs!" Phoebe says and Chester stands and puts both hands in the air, clapping them as crumbs rain down in agreement. Boone couldn't care less; he's transfixed on flamingo stems dancing around some water.

"Yeah, it would be cool if all the colors were stripes like a rainbow," Teddy says. "Like every color on one egg!"

"Yeah!" Phoebe says.

And just like that, a flash of brilliance comes to me. Why not just put all the color tablets into one bowl? They'll swirl around in a rainbow mix and my kids will have the best rainbow eggs this side of your Easter bonnet.

Yeah, if your Easter bonnet looks like this, I'd hide from the parade...

"I thought it was 'post to be rainbow, why does it look so black?" Phoebe asks as we stare into the murky abyss of the concoction I've just created by putting every tablet into one bowl.

"It's like space without any stars or moon and only some pukey green at the edges," Teddy says.

"It looks like the color of sad," Phoebe says. "I don't want sad Easter eggs, Daddy."

Great, because of me, my kids are going to have goth eggs. Ana will have my hide if she finds out. No, actually she'll think it's hilarious. She warned me I couldn't do it and she'd be right. Fuck, I can't let her thing I'm this big of a louse. I'm feeling like the biggest loser, but not the one who lost the weight. The one who gained a fifth head and a shitload of problems. What the fuck am I going to do?

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see an easel set up that holds a finger painting Phoebe's done. I think it's a portrait of Boone as his feathers are glued around what looks like a print of her hand. And I remember something—Boone has art supplies!

"Hey, you know a better way to decorate eggs?" I ask, getting up from my seat, almost tipping over because of my bunny crown and the fact that the seat I'm in was made for poultry asses, and run over to Boone's art corner. "Finger paints! And markers!" I grab a bunch of the felt tip things from a canister and hold them up.

"We color the egg outsides with markers?" Teddy asks.

"Yes, and stickers," I lift up a bunch of bunny and flower ones that are in a little drawer labeled "cute ones". "And paint!" I pick up a little bottle, waving it around.

"That's for Boone's nails," Phoebe says, practically confirming Boone's costume as definitely being a metrosexual superhero.

"It's for eggs, too," I say throwing the supplies on the table. "And we can glitter them up, as well."

"Yay!" Phoebe throws her arms up in the air.

And it wasn't a metrosexual superhero that saved the day; it was Dad.

#######

"Wow, these are spectacular," Ana says, examining the eggs we're showing to her as she sits at the kitchen table. There's so much glitter and nail polish and 3-D sticker action going on, they look like they just stepped out of a Times Square billboard and they're on their way to Vegas to liven up the strip. "I've never such artistic expression!"

"Thank you," I say, noticing she's noticing the nail polish swirl art that is mine. Who knew I had such talent in lacquers.

"I made a mermaid egg," Phoebe says. "I put the gold fishy sticker at the bottom to make her tail, and the blue nail paint for her body, and an Ariel sticker for her head."

"So beautiful!" she gushes. "But, didn't you guys use any of the boxed egg coloring?"

"Uh, we dabbled in that," I say. "But, I wanted to encourage artistic expression, like you said. Egg dye is for amateurs. I wanted the kids to have full reign over their creativity."

She gives me a look. She knows I'm full of something, but she isn't quite sure if it's genius or shit.

"Is that green marker?" she asks, picking up another one and examining it.

"Yeah," Teddy says, excitedly. "I made it to look like a rock from Mars. But, it isn't really a rock, it's an alien that pretended to be one and he's sitting in the park and is gonna jump out and take people and steal them back to his spaceship, so they could take them back to Mars and study their brains." I can't believe he got all that out in one breath. "I put eye stickers on the side so you could see the Mars man was peeking out."

"That's so imaginative, Teddy!" Ana says and then looks at me. "We have the most talented kids!"

"I couldn't agree more." Whew. I feel like I've dodged a real bullet. The kids are happy, Ana thinks I'm a good educational influence, and I am still having sex tonight.

"How did you ever come up with that idea for your egg, Teddy?" Ana asks.

"I thought to make a Mars man when Daddy put in all the colors into one bowl and it was all black like space," Teddy says.

That bullet I dodged just backed up, got in a spaceship and crashed through my head by way of Mars.

#######

"He came back pretty clean, sir," Taylor says as we slosh through the just watered meadow hiding basketfuls of these damn eggs. Thankfully the majority were pre-colored, but I'm taking extra special care to hide the kids' eggs in spots they can find them before those other hellion children get their hands on them and they get all broken up.

"He's moved a lot, but there doesn't appear to be anything criminal about it," Taylor says.

"Why has he moved so much?"

"It's not clear, Mr. Grey, but his former neighbor said he was always on the go."

Neighbors! Next thing I know he'll tell me the neighbor thought he was nice..."

"The neighbor thought he was nice, sir."

"I knew it!"

"How's that, Mr. Grey?"

"Just confirming my belief that everyone who's nice to their neighbors is a predator."

"Everyone seems to think he's a a nice guy, Mr. Grey. Not just the neighbor."

"What do I care what everyone thinks? I only care about what I think and so should you."

Mr. Grey, I'd be first to notify you if there was cause for concern, but I truly don't see any. I think he's just a man who likes to dress up as a bunny at parties."

"And this doesn't cause concern for you?!"

I place egg after egg behind rocks, in the flowers and in tall grass and I can't shake the feeling something is up here. No man would play the Easter Bunny if he wasn't strong armed by family or is a criminal. Who picks to be the Easter Bunny, anyway? It's rather second or third rate of all of the holiday characters. I mean, I trust Santas more than Easter Bunnies. Though, that's not saying much.

"What about this Bunny University he went to?" I ask, making sure to hide the yellow eggs in the yellow planter and the green ones in the green so they'll be camouflaged appropriately. I notice Taylor put a pink one in a red bucket. Amateur.

"It's a real place where people get certificates to play characters. Not just holiday ones, clowns and such. It's accredited, sir."

"By who? Let me guess—the department of jesters."

"It's on the up and up for people who do that sort of work, sir. And they do bring happiness to children."

"I don't care if this guy is a fucking saint walking over the river and across a rainbow to shit gold into the pot at the end of it, something needs to be done about him."

"Do you want me to lock him in his basement and stand watch so he can't show up, sir?" he asks. He's so fucking weird. He always takes it to kidnapping and guerrilla war tactics. But, that's why I love him.

"No, no need." Besides, Ana would immediately know it was me. "We're going to beat him at his own game."

"We, sir?" I think I can see him gulp. His Adam's apple is rather pronounced.

I nod. "Taylor, tomorrow, we're hunting wabbits."


	7. Chapter 7

**_Thank you everyone for all your follows, comments and favorites for all my stories. I appreciate it so much. More to come! xox_**

"Mr. Grey, I don't know if I feel comfortable with this," Taylor whispers as we stand together, locked in my walk-in closet. I would've taken him downstairs into my office to show him my items, but Ana's office is right next door; plus she's been wandering about, readying the house and the children for the party and I definitely don't want to risk exposure.

"What do you mean?" I ask, holding the head of my monstrosity up for him to get a good look. "Why don't you feel comfortable? We've done worse than this before."

"Yes, but I'm definitely for certain Mrs. Grey wouldn't approve of this, sir."

"Who's the boss around here?" I ask. He just looks at me. "Don't answer that." We all know it's Ana, but does he have to emasculate me so overtly in my own closet? "Come on, Taylor, I need your help."

"Yes, sir." He's hesitant, but agreeable. That's all I need from him.

"What do you think of it? Honest opinion." I hold my hands out for him to see it.

"I'm not sure what to think of it, sir." He crinkles his nose in assessment, almost as if he's smelling a flower he thinks may have the capacity to eat his face off. "I've only seen smaller versions and that was years ago when I was a teenager in boarding school, but they weren't near the quality of yours, sir."

"You went to boarding school?" I thought he lived in the Ozarks or something with his Annie Oakley mom in a cabin they built out of sticks, stones and tin can donations.

"It wasn't a fancy British school abroad or anything. We just didn't have a high school in my town, so they housed us four towns over in bungalows. And we had a lot of what your holding busying about the grounds. It was actually our mascot."

"This was your mascot?" What kind of weird fuck place did he go to?

"It wasn't an official mascot, but everyone knew."

I don't want to know.

"Forget about your rah rah school days and check this thing out." I hand him the full hairy beast.

"It's quite heavier than I expected, sir." He manipulates it a bit and I can tell he's impressed. "And the head is enormous!"

"Of course it is. It's made for a man."

"Well, it's not made for a woman. She'd break her neck trying to steady it. How do you stand upright with it, Mr. Grey?"

"Taylor, I work out with Claude. He gives me three times the weight of that to play with daily."

He's impressed, I can tell.

"What exactly are you going to do with it, sir?"

"I'm going to strut all over GEH on Monday with it and lead a parade downtown." I roll my eyes. "What do you think I'm going to do with a rabbit costume on Easter? I'm going to be the Easter Bunny."

He stands back and stares at me like I'm Red Riding Hood saying she's gonna shack up with the wolf after a lunch of grandma.

"I thought we were just keeping an eye on that man playing the part, sir. I didn't know you were intent on playing the part yourself."

"How long have you known me, Taylor?"

"Far longer than I ever expected to, sir." He sighs.

"And in that time would you ever think I'd let some idiot play the Easter Bunny over me?"

"Well, in the early years, sir."

"You think I'm going to let some half rate traveling salesman with a bargain basement bunny diploma bounce my kids on his knee while plying them with sugar and taking pictures of it? That'll happen the millennium after hell freezes over on the south side of never."

"So, are we preventing him from coming to work his job today, Mr. Grey?" Taylor asks, his tone more serious. I'm not sure what he means by that, but suddenly I feel like I'm in that episode of the Sopranos where they took out Big Pussy.

"No, I'm not making a stink of it ahead of time so the moms—or Ana—will be all over me about it. The last thing I want is for him to become the martyr for mall rabbits."

"So, how are you planning on preventing him from being the Easter Bunny and playing him yourself, sir?"

"Taylor, I can't see the future, but I'm a man who seizes opportunity. And when opportunity throws a furball today, we're going to knock it out of the park."

And that fucker won't know what hit him.

#######

"Christian, why are there a hundred baby chicks walking around a garden of gigantic candy flowers out by the barn?" Ana asks, approaching me on the patio as I motion for the men carrying the dozen six-foot-tall solid chocolate rabbits to come in from the back gate and arrange them along Jelly Bean Lane and down to the Hop Along Forest. I've had treasure maps made for the children of Easter Land to make the hunt for eggs more adventuresome. I didn't tell Ana, but Phoebe and Teddy have special X's on theirs for where I've hidden their surprises.

"Because it's spring," I say. I'm sure she didn't notice the finer details of that garden, like the Oreo crumb soil or the marzipan carrots sticking out from it or that there are cracked eggs made of finely milled rainbow colored sugar that the chicks are inferred to have hatched from. And I'm certain she doesn't see that the intricately carved fence surrounding it isn't made of wood, but of white chocolate with brushes of caramel. "The baby bunnies and goats should be coming from the petting zoo as well any minute."

"I thought we were going to keep this a simple egg hunt." She motions to my chocolate rabbits. I'm quite impressed with the artist who I commissioned to do the foil wrappings. The detail and colors are spectacular.

"This is simple for me."

"Is that the Easter Bunny gazebo?" she asks, pointing to the elaborate, almost royal setup ahead.

There's a king's chair under a canopy of springtime flowers that looks like Mother Nature decorated herself.

"Yes," I say, turning my head before she asks too many questions that may reveal who will really be sitting on that throne by hunt's end.

"I'm impressed," she says.

"Yes, the Easter lilies lining the pink carpet up the steps to the throne are lovely."

"No, that you made it so nice. I thought you might be upset about the Easter Bunny situation and not go all out like this."

"Well, it's for my kids and you know what I always say—charity begins at home. That goes for asshat Easter bunnies visiting our home, too."

"It's Bill!" she says, feigning outraged, but she can't contain her laugh.

"Who?"

"The Easter Bunny's name is Bill."

"Ana, don't you find it highly suspicious his name is Bill?" I can't contain my ire at the mention of that name.

"What's wrong with being named Bill?"

"Not a thing. That's exactly my point. There's nothing suspicious about it at all, which makes me highly suspicious about all of it."

"I would think you've gone mad, but I know better." She shakes her head.

"Funny ha ha, but it's true. Everyone trusts a Bill. Bills are teachers or a bankers or your elderly neighbor who you borrow sugar from and you trust that it's not cyanide laced, but Bills are not traveling salesman who side in costumed holiday work.

"Billy Bob Thornton played _Bad Santa."_ She giggles.

"Exactly. A criminal. Speaking of which, Bob's are sketchy as fuck, too."

Ana rolls those baby blues and lord do I want to spank her in that little lemon polka dot sundress she's wearing, especially as she's crossing her arms and her breasts are heaving forth at me like alpine slopes just begging me to take a ride. But, I'm expecting the barn sized Easter basket with the Peeps bounce house inside to arrive any minute and I won't let these delivery men see any part of my ski vacation.

"You know, my stepfather's name is Bob," she says.

"And?" I raise a brow and she raises one back. That guy is suspicious as fuck. He's always injuring himself so he doesn't have to work or travel. I think he lives off of Carla. Sort of a"will work for blowjobs" mentality. Only she works and gives the blow jobs and he watches golf. I did a background check on him years back. Nothing really criminal, except unpaid parking tickets, three failed written driving tests, and he sees the dermatologist a lot.

"Well, he's coming today with my mother, so be nice."

"I'm always nice."

"Oh right."

"Bob and I get along fine." I barely ever see him, so that helps. God, I hope Carla doesn't get drunk on our jet again. I told the crew to limit the little bottle service, but who knows with her. My mother and she will be unbearable once the champagne punch is served! The sister sister act was bad enough the first time, I don't need the sequel.

"Where do you want the giant Russian eggs?" the delivery guy asks. I've had candy Faberge eggs specially crafted by a confectioner in France who swears he's a shirt tail descendant of the Romanovs.

"By the carousel in the north meadow," I say to them.

"You know when I met you, I think the only holiday you celebrated was Banker's Day," Ana says.

"Hey, that's an undervalued holiday," I say, wrapping her in my arms. "Get it— _undervalued_?" She laughs. "No, I didn't celebrate any. Now, holidays are my life, because of you." I lean down and give her a kiss, holding to her growing belly and stroking it through the silken fabric of her dress.

"How are my babies today?" I ask, against her parted mouth where my tongue has just left.

"They're little jumping beans." She's getting so big, more like jumping footballs.

"I feel." My babies are doing somersaults in Ana's belly against my hand. "Play nicely, kids," I say, leaning over to put my mouth to her bump. I make sure to kiss them and talk to them all the time. We had a whole conversation about nursery mobiles and how they felt about coordinating outfits this morning while Ana was out cold sleeping. Granted, it was mostly one-sided, but I took flutters and kicks as serious input. I can't wait to meet them. I love them so much already.

"You know, Mommy," I say, holding onto her hips as I slink myself up against her until I'm upright again. "You should sneak away with Daddy at some point and have some parental springtime fun."

"Oh, you'll have to wait for that," she whispers in my ear. "But, I can guarantee you the Easter Bunny is coming later." She nips my lobe and then pulls back to do the same to her bottom lip, sending a shiver of electricity down my spine that lights up my dick and would make Edison sit up in his grave.

"Besides, it's almost time for the festivities."

"Speaking of which, where is this Hoppy character Bill anyway?" I ask.

"He should be here any minute," Ana says.

"Good."

"What does that mean? I don't like the way you said good."

"Ana, I just want to meet the guy." I feign innocence.

Yeah, I want to meet this fucker face-to-face.

#######

"I'm Hoppy Tailingsworth," Bill Malloy, dressed in a man-sized bunny suit, says as he stands before Taylor and me in the meadow. His getup is pink, but not like it was originally intended to be pink, more like the kind of pink that used to be white until you washed a red towel with your underwear. And he looks like he found it under a dumpster, dragged it home tied to his car tire and said fuck it when he saw a bouncing eyeball starting to defect from the face.

Taylor and I stare at him as he turns and shakes his cotton tail end and then spins back around again.

"And today is going to be an _eggggg-scelent_ day!" He throws his paws in the air in celebration and chomps his rabbit fangs up and down. I'm not sure if that's a fake mouth piece or if his teeth really look like that, but in either case he needs battle tested braces and an industrial strength whitening. Mind you, as all of this theatrical production is going on, there are no children in front of us; it's just Taylor and myself meeting this wacko wabbit on Jelly Bean Lane.

"That's cute," I say. Cute meaning insane and I'm about to have Taylor drive you away and lose you in the woods.

"That's what the blue bird on my shoulder told me," he says and laughs. Why is he so fucking delighted with himself? Because he successfully lisps every third word he says?

"I really am just so pleased to meet you, Mr. Grey," Bill says, finally using a somewhat normal voice and breaking character. "I just knew you'd have the perfect home for the party. Thank you for offering it for today."

"I hear you do these kinds of things a lot," I glare.

"Oh yes, but nothing as fancy as all this. It's a hoot and a chuckle for me. I'd really do anything to make the kids happy."

"The Easter Bunny is an unusual choice in specialty," I say.

"Well, I know everyone loves Santa, but the Easter Bunny is always near and dear to my heart. I felt it was sort of a calling to make Easter _eggggg-stra_ special." He chuckles and puts a paw to his chest like he's having an emotional moment. "Now, where should I hop along to?"

"I can think of a few places..." I roll my eyes.

"I better go and make sure my eggs are well hidden before the kids get here!" He does that rabbit chomp again with his teeth and takes off down the bunny path, actually hopping from jellybean brick to jellybean brick all the way down the road.

"Taylor, we have to get rid of him asap. He's insane."

"He seems rather nice; not threatening, sir."

"Taylor, you of all people know it's the nice ones you can't trust."

"Well, I do trust you, sir."

"Exactly." Wait, is he making fun of me? Fucker. "Just keep an eye on him."

"Yes, sir."

I make my way inside the house to the kitchen where Ana and Gail are preparing for the festivities.

"Ana, that rabbit is on the loose in our yard!"

"One of the bunnies from the petting zoo?"

"No. He's big and pink and answers to the name Hoppy and I think he's a psychopath."

"Christian!" she says, shaking her head as she finishes trays of deviled eggs. Oh look, Tilly's kin.

"He's weird, Ana. Not even weird like me, weird like count the silverware and the children weird."

I thought maybe Ana might possibly listen to her husband's opinion and allow me to get rid of that rabbit, but instead, Ana laughs.

"This isn't funny," I say. "He won't take off his mask and have a regular conversation with me. He told me it was his calling. It's like one of those cults that brainwashes people, but he's the only member so he just brainwashed himself."

She and Gail just look at me for a moment.

"Christian," Ana says like I'm her fifth child. "He's acting like a bunny because he's in character. He told me he has to have a few hours at it to do a good job." I'm sure that's not the only thing he needs a couple hours at before he can perform.

"Ana, he's an Easter Bunny. It isn't Shakespeare. No ones expecting Lady MacBeth to rub the damn spot out!"

"He also doesn't want to risk the kids seeing him out of character," she says. Why is she defending him?

"There weren't any kids! It was me and Taylor!"

She doesn't say anything. What is she saying by that?

"Gail, don't you think it's odd for a full grown man to actively wear a pink rabbit suit and jump around another man's lawn?" I ask.

"Oh, I don't know. Some men may think that's fun at holidays." I suddenly wonder if that infers something I don't want to know about Taylor. "I met him, Mr. Grey, and he seemed pleasant."

Why does everyone think he's so nice?!

"Don't worry, Christian," Ana says. "He's perfectly harmless." She gives me a kiss to try and placate me, but I'm still boiling, so I point to my lips for her to do it again.

"Daddy!" Phoebe says running into the kitchen wearing a picture perfect pink Easter dress with yellow flowers and white lace trim and a cream hat with ribbons and bows to match. Chester is on her shoulder dressed in a yellow tuxedo with a cracked egg as a top hat. He looks like he's about to perform in a Broadway production of _Caber-egg._

"You look beautiful!" I say and she runs over to me and I pull her up into my arms. Of course Chester comes along for the ride and stares at me from her shoulder with his teeth exposed.

Chester," I say. "Spill a little egg on your suit?" I laugh to myself at the yellow of his tux that looks to be stained from the contents of the cracked egg on his head. I may be imagining it, but I think he squeaks a "fuck you".

"Me and Ava are gonna dance and wave our hats and twirl in our dresses today with the fancy boys," Phoebe says.

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" I say. I think my life just flashed before my eyes.

"Christian," Ana snorts a laugh. "They're doing a song from _Easter Parade_ for the program."

"Why are boys involved?" I ask.

"Because they go to the school," she says.

"That's not a good reason!"

"They dance with their top hats for us and we walk by all of the flowers and wave," she says, acting out the wave. I don't like this. It sounds less _Easter Parade_ and more can-can girls.

The doorbell rings.

"Ava's here! Ava's here!" Phoebe jumps down and runs out of the kitchen and I follow her to the front door.

"Why do you think it's Ava?" I ask.

"Because Auntie Kate called Mommy and said they was almost out of where the cars are so slow on the roads and Uncle Elliot says naughty words and almost bump bumps them and that's bad 'cause you gotta pay big monies for bangs in the car sides that would be broke ribs if cars was peoples but they are not, they are cars, but they didn't gotta do that, 'cause she called again and they were getting up to our house okay." I think she means they were in traffic, there were no accidents and they made it without Elliot cussing out a truck driver. I'll go with that.

I nearly trip on the way to the door on a big round object in my path.

"What the—" I say.

Suddenly something pops out and makes a loud growling sound. I jump, but then look down to see it's Teddy. He's dressed as a yellow bird-like creature that's half cracked out of an egg and he's laughing at the fact that he nearly scared his father to death.

"Why are you in that get-up?" I ask.

"I'm a dinosaur baby that is gonna attack all of the world!" He growls again, pretending to claw at what I assume is supposed to be all of the world, but is just the air.

"No, he's not!" Phoebe says. "He's a ducky for the old man who sings all of the _cheer-e-i-e-i-o's."_

"General Mills?" I ask.

"No, he's a farmer man," she says.

"Old Macdonald?" I ask.

"Yeah!" she says and she starts to break out into the song. Chester sways to the beat.

"That's what they think I am, but I'm really gonna attack all of the world!" Teddy says and chases a squealing Phoebe in a circle around me. Chester's on his hind legs, hissing. How does he not fall off in those white patent leather shoes he's wearing?

"Quiet, kids!" I say as I open the door and low and behold it's my brother and his family with Jose and his dear old dad. Why does Kate always bring the Rodriguez contingency? I think she does it on purpose to piss me off. And why do they need a ride, anyway? Their family has twenty-five fourth hand cars that anyone can have at a moment's notice. Of course, none of them probably run well enough to make it up to the top of the hill.

"Ava!" Phoebe squeals when she sees her.

"Pee-bee!" Ava still says "pee-bee" every time. They hug and jump up and down. They just saw each other Friday.

"Your dress is so pretty," Phoebe says, admiring Ava's blue gingham number with the matching parasol. Kate's probably teaching her to smack guys with it. Hey, that's not a bad idea for Phoebe... "Did you getted it from Paris?"

"Oh yes, the princess of Paris has one just like it," Ava says.

"Daddy, do you know the princess of Paris?" Phoebe asks.

"Yes, we'll have her to tea next week."

"Hey, bro. We brought a ham, because it's tradition," Elliot says, handing a big thing wrapped in gold foil and dripping sticky stuff to me.

"Thank you, Elliot. We would've never thought to serve ham on Easter." I roll my eyes.

"I got the dips, too," Elliot says.

Speaking of dips...

"Oh yes, Kate, lovely to see you, again," I say and she snarks a laugh.

"Where's Ana?" Kate asks. She's carrying a tray of assorted blue cheeses. Of course Kate would bring mold.

"She's in the kitchen helping Gail."

"Keeping her barefoot, pregnant and chained to your kitchen, huh?" Kate smirks.

"Only on the weekends," I mock a laugh. "And don't give her any of that cheese! It's on the "no list" from Dr. Greene." I have four of those lists—one for the fridge, one for my desk at home and at work and one for Taylor in the car so Ana can't convince him to stop for shellfish or something. Not that she would, but you never know what odd cravings hit and what a pregnant woman might do to get her hands on some raw oysters.

"Roar!" Teddy growls as he jumps up from his egg and startles the crowd.

"Ahhh!" Ava screams and runs from him.

"Teddy, please," I say. "Save the theatrics for the stage."

"What are tree-attics?" he asks.

"Where you put your old coloring books and extra candies at the top of your tree houses," Phoebe says.

What?—oh, tree attics. Is she smuggling candy up in that thing? Of course it's no regular tree house, it's an orchard estate. And I wouldn't let them climb up to it and break their necks, so I've installed an elevator.

"Hey, little dude, that's a cool get-up!" Jose says to Teddy and the kids all crowd around him like he's the second coming of Big Bird or something. Maybe that's why I want to give him the big bird every time I see him.

Old Man Rodriguez stares at me, per usual. Why is he here at an egg hunt for kids that aren't even related to him? Thanksgiving and Christmas are one thing, but next he's going to be joining us for Father's Day and they'll eventually call him Abuelo.

"Mr. Rodriguez," I nod to the old guy. "Nice that spring is here, huh?"

"Next it will be summer..." he says, with a grumble and a grimace.

"Sorry for the bad news."

He nods.

"Hey guys!" Mia says, surprising everyone at the door with my grandmother and grandfather in tow.

"Grampy! Grammy!" the kids say and my grandparents dole out hugs.

"I gotta take a crap, where's the can?" my grandfather asks.

"Keep it in your pants for a minute, you old coot!" my grandmother says.

"If I do that, it certainly won't stay there!"

"Teddy, go show Gramps to the bathroom," I say.

"Which one?" Teddy asks.

"The closest one."

"Okay."

"Are you a platypus?" my grandfather asks Teddy as he leads them down the hallway and I can faintly hear Teddy do his dinosaur growl.

"Auntie Mia!" the girls hug her.

"You two are tres manifique!" she says.

"Merci," Phoebe says and winks up at me. I've taught her French well. I can't wait to take her to Paris one day. We'll have a crazy shopping spree at Dior and go to town on Nutella.

"Where are Mom and Dad?" I ask, still holding this twenty-seven pound ham and the honey mustard dip trio Elliot handed me. Why won't any of these knuckleheads progress into the house past the entryway?

"They went for a drink with Carla and Bob," Mia says.

"What are you talking about? Carla and Bob are flying in now."

"They got here early and texted, I guess."

Why didn't Sawyer tell me about this?

"Be responsible for your own ham," I say to Elliot as I hand it back to him.

"I'l take it to Ana," Kate says, grabbing the ham and dips from him and then takes off for the kitchen. If I knew that was all it took to get her away from me, I'd have handed her a ham a long time ago.

I pull out my phone to text Sawyer, but I see he's already sent me one: _Your Mom insisted we stop off for a minute. Will be there shortly. It's not my fault._

Oh fuck.

"Dad," Teddy says, running in like a fire's chasing him. "Grandpa clogged the toilet! And it smells like skunks lived in there for years." He's pulling his duck bill over his nose.

"Eww, I smell it," Phoebe says after she and Ava poke their heads into the hallway to check out the action.

"Me, too!" Ava says and both girls run back to us.

"I think I might die," Teddy says. Damn, it must be bad. This kid lives for dirt and disgusting things.

"Where is he now?" I ask Teddy.

"Watching baseball." Damn, he did have to go fast.

"Go help him, Elliot!" I say.

"Why me?"

"Because he's your grandfather."

"He's watching ball. I'm not gonna clean your toilet."

"Elliot, please, check on him!"

He grumbles and heads down the hall with Teddy and I can hear him groan the moment I'm sure the fumes hit him.

"Hey Mia," Jose says and I look over to see him giving her a hug too long for my liking.

"Long time no see, Jose," she says, then pulls back and dips her head shyly. Why is she being so shy with Jose?

"You look nice today," he says, running his beady eyes all over her. "That dress is cool." What the fuck is all this Don Juan pornography going on in front of me about?

"Thank you," she says and smiles at him.

Are they fucking flirting?!

"Jose," I say. "Don't you have pictures to take out in our yard?" Did that really just come out of my mouth? I've never actually asked him to take photos before. I think he's surprised, too.

"Yeah, I'll go scope it out." He gives her a final smile before pulling his father along and heading off for the yard. Though, I'm not stupid enough to think he won't stop off in the kitchen to see Ana. Now Jose doesn't only sexualize my wife, but my sister, too.

"Auntie Mia, come see my doll house!" Phoebe says and the girls pull her off to her room, leaving me alone.

I text Taylor: ?

Taylor texts me back: _All is fine, sir, except I think he's eaten a few loose jelly beans from the road._

I text back: _Don't let him leave empty patches on my lane!"_

I hear giggling and chatting out the front door.

"Oh Carla, I've never known someone as fun as you!" It's my mother! It's coming from outside the open door.

"That's what I told her on our first date!" It's Bob.

I peek out.

Oh fuck. My parents and Carla and Bob are walking up the path and from the looks of it the pre-party was a success.

"Christian!" Grace says upon seeing me hovering in the doorway and gives me a big hug. "Look who we found." She points to Carla and Bob.

"Imagine the odds," I say.

"Oh Christian, we've missed you so much," Carla says and gives me a hug, shoving me back through the doorway. "You shouldn't be such a stranger!" She play slaps my arm.

"Well, you could've come Christmas or any selection of birthdays."

"My birthday is next month, Grace says. "We should all take a cruise." There's a resounding yes from the crowd.

"I always tell everyone that my Ana is the luckiest girl on the planet." Carla gives my bicep a firm squeeze. "So strong."

Oh my god.

"Hey, I'm not chopped—" Bob says, then looks to Carrick. "What is that thing they refer to that's chopped?

"Who?" Carrick says.

"The people," Bob says.

"Wood!" Carrick says.

"No, the meat that's not funny," Bob says.

"Turkey!" Grace says and chuckles.

"It's liver, lover!" Carla says to Bob and he wraps his arm around her waist, pulls her close and they publicly display their affection.

"Liver, lover!" Grace repeats and laughs. Why does Carla turn my mother into a sorority girl at the keg stand when she comes to town?"

"Ana!" I call out in a plea for her to save me.

#######

"Wow, look at this spread," Ray says as he and the family and the rest of God's green earth busily grab from the buffet that Ana and Gail set up. Every family from the school showed up today. I don't even recognize half of these freeloaders. Geez, you offer people all you can eat and they make their pockets and purses all they can take doggy bags.

"We brought the ham," Elliot says to Ray.

"There are seven hams, Elliot," I say.

"Yeah, but ours has the honey crust."

"Oh, I love the honey crust!" Carla and Grace say simultaneously, then turn to each other excitedly. "Jinx!" They laugh. I was worried about the sequel to their sister act, but this here is the trilogy, plus the painfully disappointing fourth installment that went straight to DVD.

"I don't eat casseroles!" my grandfather says as my grandmother tries to force a scoop of some green tuna noodle thing some mom brought onto his plate.

"Why's that?" I ask.

"I don't eat anything that looks the same going out the hatch as it does going down it."

"Good philosophy," I say.

"Nonsense, the man eats pea soup like it's going out of production," my grandmother says and heaps it onto his plate.

"Hey Christian," Ray says taking four spoonfuls of the spicy honey mustard. Geez, he really loves the stuff.

"Yeah, Ray?" I ask as I'm trying to make a plate for Ana. I know she'll try to skip out on the food and make some excuse like it was all gone by the time she dished up, so I'm making sure she gets the proper meal.

"I saw that Easter Bunny out front when I came up. He's a great guy. Real chatty."

"What do you mean out front?"

"He was going to his car for something."

"Really?"

"Oh, we saw him, too!" Grace says. "He's lovely and he's from the south."

"Chicago," Carrick says. "I saw him in the kitchen."

"The kitchen?" I ask.

"He needed water or something."

"He told me he's from Phoenix," Ray says.

"He's a traveling salesman, so maybe that's it," I say, so as not to arouse suspicion on my suspicions, but this is highly suspicious. His car? Our kitchen? Phoenix by way of the Windy City by way of the Bible Belt? What the hell?

"Mrs. Grey, eat," I say as I set her plate at a table and help her to sit.

"How can I possibly eat all this food?" she asks as she looks down at her plate. I guess I did go a bit overboard with seven pieces of ham, four biscuits with gobs of honey butter and portion of potatoes bigger than my head.

"Slowly," I say.

"But, there's such a mess by the buffet and I have to ready the desserts—"

I put a finger to her lips to hush her.

"Ana, we have Gail and three other people I hired today. Sit and rest and eat." I kiss her on the head. "And put your feet up." I take hold of her ankles and put them up on another chair.

"You spoil me," she says and smiles.

"My life's job." I smile in return.

I see Taylor approaching me from the north lawn. He looks like he has news.

"Excuse me a minute," I say to Ana just as Kate sits down next to her and starts talking her ear off about some yoga pants she bought that lift her ass. I'm glad to leave. The last thing I want to hear talk about is Kate's high ass.

"Taylor, did you know Hoppy was out to his car and getting water from the kitchen?" I ask him as we meet on the lawn.

"Yes, sir, I did."

"And you didn't do anything about it?"

"Was I supposed to stop him from getting a drink of water and obtaining his arthritis medication?"

"Well no, but you should report it to me."

"I'm sorry, sir. I thought it was trivial."

"So? That's what you and I do; we report information to one another no matter if it means anything or not." Geez, I suddenly feel like he doesn't know me or what we're about at all.

"Yes, sir."

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"

Oh fuck. That voice.

I turn to see Tilly coming at me in a curtain looking dress that's either covered in brown flowers or fried chicken stains. She's wearing dried daisies in that mess of hair she's got pinned up within an inch of its rat trap life and a huge man eating corsage nearly covers her entire right breast. And trust me, that's a lot of real estate no one's in the market for.

"Tilly," I say and she hugs me and I suddenly fear her dress may swallow me up into the black hole of her arm pit.

"You didn't say hello last week when I waved to you across the playground."

"I know."

"Mother, say hello!" she calls out.

Oh god, that mother! She's walking over here.

"Oh here's your guy," her mother says, her voice strangled by decades of cigarette smoke and a man's helping of testosterone that's responsible for the hairs on her lip. Not above it, on it. "I'm missing you and my girl as movie star partners today."

"Movie star partners?" I ask.

"You two up on that stage as couples are like one of those famous pairs like Bogie and Bacall or Scarlet and Rhett..."

"Or Harpo and Groucho," I say.

Tilly laughs. "Isn't he funny?" She bats her black widow if someone would actually marry her lashes at me.

"I'm not trying to be. But what can I say, comedy oozes out of situations with you, Tilly."

She blushes like it was a compliment.

I see Carla and my mother walking by with baskets.

"Where are you two going?" I ask the sisterhood of the traveling margaritas.

"The hunt is about to begin," Grace says.

"We're collecting eggs," Carla whispers and they both giggle.

"So sorry, Tilly and your mother here." I realize I still don't know that woman's name nor do I feel the urge to find out. "Would love to chat, but I need to watch forty-seven school children and my mother and mother-in-law collect eggs."

"Hey boys and girls gather round!" Hoppy says. "It's time for egg huntin' over the sound." He points to the sound, none of the kids get that it means the water.

"What sound is it?" a boy asks from somewhere in the crowd.

"Farts," another boy says and laughs. I see it's Teddy's friend Fritzy. What a disgrace. I also see his father putting a plate full of ham he's covered in shrink wrap in his kid's backpack.

"Now once I blow, you shall go!" He pulls out a carrot that's a whistle and blows.

And they're off!

Like a start for the running of the bulls if the bulls were hopped up on sugar and psychedelics, dozens of children let loose onto the lawn and into the meadow. There's pushing and shoving and grabbing...

Taylor and I are nearly toppled by a herd of them as they pass. These children are wild beasts out there, climbing up trees, digging holes in my grass, eating handfuls of jelly beans from the lane. It's like the devil let his kids out for a free day in my backyard.

"I think there's big time chocolates under the marshmallow waterfall!" some boy yells and kids race to dig through my candy coated river like they're panning for gold.

I feel like I'm Willy Wonka watching his factory be looted by warring oompa-loompas.

Hoppy is encouraging this chaos by hopping around and blowing his whistle.

"We gotta get this fucker fast, Taylor." I whisper to him. "Once the hunt is done, it's desserts, and then the gazebo and pictures."

"How do we get rid of him, sir?"

"I have an idea. You corner him deep in the Hop Along Forest and escort him out the back way to the west."

"It's ten acres out to that back way and straight down a jagged hillside that leads directly to the water."

"Well, you walked a lot on rocky terrain in war."

"Daddy!" Phoebe says. "Come hunt for eggs!" She grabs my hand.

"Yeah, Dad!" Teddy says, grabbing the other.

"Work on it, Taylor," I say and he nods as they pull me away.

"Mine has a big blue sparkle X on it," Teddy says, looking at his map."But, where does it go to?"

"Yeah, Daddy, what does my part by the pink one say?" Phoebe asks, looking at her own that's adorably upside down.

"Well, let me check this out," I say, taking both of the maps and acting like I'm trying to decipher them, knowing full well I know exactly where it is.

"You see those X's?" I ask them and they nod. "Well, that's right about ten steps left, twelve steps right and just up and over that hill." I point.

The kids take special care to count each of the steps like I directed.

"Stop stepping on my steps!" Teddy says.

"I'm not, you're stepping on the shadows of mine!" Phoebe says.

"Everybody step on their own steps," I say.

"Daddy, you walk the steps first, since your feet are bigger we could find it faster," Phoebe says.

"That's smart thinking," I walk them down Jelly Bean Lane, past the Peeps Easter Basket Bounce House, and to the barn where I open the double doors and Boone is sitting in a purple bow tie on his Persian rug next to pink and blue sparking Easter baskets, each the size of a car and filled with more than your average hot rod can carry.

"Daddy! That's the biggest basket I've ever seen!" Phoebe says, her eyes large with wonder.

"It's like Easter baskets for dinosaurs!" Teddy says. He loves those dinosaurs.

"And Chester and Boone got littler ones, too!" Phoebe says, pointing to the purple and yellow smaller baskets filled with species appropriate goodies that sit beside. Chester sniffs around and then gives me a look and nod like "thanks, shithead".

"I love you, Daddy!" Phoebe hugs me and I pick her up.

"Me too, Dad," Teddy says and I pull him into a hug at my legs, realizing for the first time that my first baby is probably too big for me to pick up anymore.

"It wasn't me, it was the Easter Bunny." I shrug, a little sentimental over my sudden realization. "But, not that silly bunny out there in the yard. The one that's coming later."

Phoebe scrunches her nose and squints her eyes like Ana does when she's trying to figure out if I'm telling fib or fact. But, I think the magic of childhood wins out.

"I love the Easter Bunny, too. But, I love you Daddy so much more!" She kisses my cheek.

 _More_...

"Now, keep this barn locked up for later and go fill your little baskets with some regular eggs so the other kids won't catch on." I wink at them as I lock the doors to the barn and they take off; their laughter and squeals dancing as they run across the meadow. The same meadow I showed Ana that first time. I never imagined it could be so beautiful.

I know no matter what comes in the future or how many children we have, Teddy and Phoebe will always be my one and only first little boy and first little girl. Before Phoebe, I never thought I could be a father to a daughter and before Teddy, I never thought I could be a father at all. Teddy gave me a crash course in what it means to rock a teething baby to sleep at three in morning and to want to do it, or how to change diapers on the quick (I'm a pro now), and how to see perfection in eyes that look like your own, even if you see far less than perfect in yourself.

From Phoebe I've learned the magic of ponies and rainbows reflected in puddles and unicorn poop and what it means to wear a feather hat and have high tea with a stuffed mother goose. She's taught me not to step on bugs because they could have families at home who are waiting for their return at night. I've learned to play dolls well and sit in too-small chairs while she styles my hair. And I've learned with both of them, like I've learned with Ana, that firsts hold an extra special place in your heart.

"Chicks!" Ava yells out in the distance, and I see her pulling Elliot into the candy garden. He nearly trips and falls into some muddy area and I laugh. Phoebe sees all this with Ava and not having it that anyone could possibly have fun with animals without her, darts over, jumps inside the fence, and she and Ava sit with the chicks and play.

"Little girls, huh?" I say to Elliot as I walk up behind him.

"Little girls," he says and gives me a smile. "Who would've thought the two of us." He shakes his head and there's a happiness on his face that I know well. And the bitch of it all is that two sappy, happy dads are here today all because Katherine Kavanagh came down with the flu.

"Hey, forget the eggs! I found something better," some little first grader in floral pants and matching suspenders yells out to a group of his friends as he takes off across the yard. How that kid has friends in that get-up is beyond me. "There's chocolate in those big daddy sized rabbits!" He points to one of my six-foot-tall bunnies and a hoard of kids run for it.

"Hey!" I yell as they topple it over and more kids join in, crawling on top and trying to take out the ears from beneath the artistic foil. I dart over to them. "Lay off the big rabbits!"

The kids all scatter, but they have chocolate on their faces and hunks of it in their hands. I also see Fritzy handing half an ear to his father for their backpack doggy bag.

"Sir," Taylor says as he rushes over to me.

"What is it? Did you get him?" Damn he walked those ten acres and scaled that mountain fast.

"No, I tried to find him in the meadow and the woods, but couldn't, sir."

"Where is he?"

He looks grim.

"I checked the surveillance cameras. He's in Mrs. Grey's bathroom in the master suite, sir."

"What?"

"He's holed up in there. But, it's worse... Mrs. Grey is in your bedroom right now."

"What?!" My fists clench and my face fires.

"She looks to be picking out a sweater from her dressing room. I don't think she knows he's in there."

Oh my God.

Without a word, I take off fast for the house, ignoring everything in my path and Taylor follows.

"Ana!" I yell as we head up the stairs and into the bedroom, looking through her closet and dressing room. She's not there. "Ana!"

I race for her bathroom and try to open the door, but it's locked. I know Bill is inside.

"Open up, fucker!"

Still no answer.

"I know you're in there! Open up before I break this door down!"

I give a nod to Taylor and with three kicks of impressive force, the door is down.

Bill Malloy is standing in the corner with his paws up, shaking.

"Where the hell is my wife?" I grab him by his rabbit chest.

"I don't know!" he stutters, shaking worse.

"I swear, if you did anything—"

"Christian!" Ana says and I turn to see her at what was the door. "What's going on here?"

"Oh Ana!" I drop him and run to her, pulling her into an embrace. "You're okay, baby."

"Of course I'm okay. I was just looking for a sweater. I left it in Phoebe's room. What is everyone doing in here?" She looks at the fallen door and then to the shaking rabbit man. I notice she's wearing a cream cashmere sweater. Good; her breasts are covered.

"This fucker is psychopath!" I point to Bill. "I thought he hurt you."

"I just had to pee," he says.

"Likely story! Why didn't you use the bathroom you were told to use?" I ask.

"It was clogged."

"What?"

"There's foul poop in the bowl."

Oh crap, my grandfather's crap. I forgot about that.

"Well, how did you get up here?" I ask.

"I just went looking around. When you gotta go..."

"Christian, I think you owe this man an apology," Ana says.

Damn.

"I'm sorry," I begrudgingly say and I hold out my hand. He smiles and holds out his paw and we shake.

Fuck. Now, I'll never be able to get rid of him and be the Easter Bunny.

 _Clank. Clank. Clank. Clunk. Clunk. Clack._

I hear the most beautiful sounds—incrimination.

We all look to the floor and see Ana's Christmas present, her New Year's presents and her Valentine's Day jeweled lingerie crashed out onto the bathroom tile, out of a hole in the sleeve of Billy Boy's cheap old rabbit suit.

I knew you couldn't trust a Bunny named Bill.

#######

"I can't believe he was wanted in seven states," Ana says as she helps me out of my Bunny head back in our bedroom, following the festivities where I was crowned Easter Bunny King. Everyone is taking a nap. Let me take that back, the kids are taking a nap, the folks are passed out drunk. "And to think he used being an Easter Bunny as a cover to rob people blind."

"I knew he was too nice to be any good," I say.

She leans up and gives me a sweet kiss.

"What was that for?" I ask and she nuzzles against my rabbit costumed chest.

"For always watching out for us." She looks up at me. "Even if you are over-the-top crazy sometimes, your heart is in the right place."

"I don't care if the whole world thinks I'm a nut, I'll always do what's best for you and for my family."

She smiles and kisses me again.

"You made a very good Easter Bunny," she says stroking my face. "In fact, they want to get you in advance to be Uncle Sam for the Fourth of July."

"Have them call my agent." I laugh and so does she. "I don't care what they think; what did you think?"

"Best I've ever seen."

"How many others have you seen?"

"A lot."

I frown.

"But," she puts a finger to my chin. "You're the only one I want to see naked."

"Why Mrs. Grey, are you trying to seduce the Easter Bunny?"

"Yes," she says and walks around back of me and unzips my furry suit.

"Well good, I was just making sure," I say and smile.

"Why don't you get out of this suit so I can put on a little bunny show of my own..."

She slides it off my body and it falls to the floor. She then hooks her thumbs in the waistband of my boxer briefs and slides them down my legs as she drops to her knees. I'm the way nature intended me to be and fully saluting spring with my Maypole.

"I wanted a taste of my favorite Easter candy first," she says and licks my tip. Oh fuck that's impressive. I hold to her head gently, stroking her hair as she takes the whole length of me into her mouth over and over and gloriously over again.

"Ana, oh god. Stop. I'm going to come."

She keeps going for a minute until I'm almost to the brink and then pulls away and stands. All the while never taking her eyes off mine.

I can't resist; I hold her head with both of my hands and bring her mouth to mine, losing myself in her kiss.

"I want to fuck you now, Mrs. Grey," I whisper against her mouth and I can feel her smile. Without my lips leaving hers, I start to undo the buttons of her dress.

"Wait," she pushes back and away and I'm left a naked mess as she moves over to the dresser and picks up a velvet pouch, swinging it on a thin strap that's hooked on her finger as she returns to me.

"Will you help me with my costume for tonight, Sir?" she asks and hands me the pouch. I open it, my dick still twitching from that Sir, to find a glorious sight—a big fuzzy white cotton tail that's attached to a butt plug.

"Happy Easter, Mr. Grey."

She unbuttons the rest of her dress and it falls to the floor, revealing white and pink baby doll lingerie, thigh highs and all. Damn.

"You were wearing this all day and I had no idea?" I ask and she bites her lip in response.

"I need help with my tail," she says and then turns around and leans over the bed, pointing that delectable ass that's wearing crotchless panties my way.

I take a breath and gulp as I move to her, holding to the cotton puff.

Oh yes, the Easter Bunny is coming tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Thank you so much for your comments and reviews! I appreciate it all so much! More to come! xo**_

I wake twenty minutes before the alarm with a smile on my face. This has lately become my favorite sliver of the day. No one knows I do this, not even Ana, who's none the wiser now as she snoozes next to me. I tip-toe my fingers to the edge of the comforter and gently peel it and then the sheet away from her belly, then inch her satin camisole up to expose the bare skin of her bigger-than-even-when-we-went-to-bed-last-night bump. She's glorious and breathtaking and thankfully she's still asleep. This pregnancy has her out like a rock, so hopefully she won't wake up during what I'm about to do. She hasn't yet.

"Good morning kids," I whisper into Ana's belly and I can feel the babies stir at the sound of my voice. I think they like me. I hope so. Either that or they're asking each other who this weird dude that jabbers on and on before 6am everyday is. I purposely wake at this time each morning so we can have a few minutes alone before the start of the day. I like to talk to them. We don't converse about anything especially groundbreaking—mostly the weather (in the womb and out), or what they want to be when they grow up, or how they feel about matching outfits, or how they're always going to listen to their father. I also gave that last instruction to Teddy and Phoebe en utero—well, maybe the third and fourth time's the charm. It really doesn't matter what we talk about, I just like these few precious minutes before the light of morning steals me away. This special little pocket of time just for me and them.

"Did you have a good sleep?" I ask, lightly stroking Ana's skin. "I hope that Chinese food your mother had a craving and sent me out for didn't keep you up." I feel a flutter from the one on the right side of her belly and I can't tell if that's a yes for good sleep or a vote against late night Szechwan Palace. I think that's the chattier of the two—the one on the right. The right side always gets up first and seems to gab away. Or maybe it's all just gas from the egg rolls. But, I'd like to think it isn't.

"We get to find out about you two today..." There's a rumble on the left side and I don't think gas would have such perfect timing. "You excited, too? But you already know what you are." Double flutters. No, not gas; definitely babies. It's only flutters now, but when they really start full-on kicking it's going to be a soccer match on Ana's bladder. I better get ready for having no sleep at night, before I have to get ready for having no sleep at night.

"Give me a hint—blue or pink?" There's no response. I put my ear to her belly so I can hear for grumblings better. "You're just like your mother, aren't you? You like to keep me on my toes."

 _Grumble Grumble._

I smile against Ana's skin and turn to give her belly a kiss; it's soft and sweet and I hope somehow my babies can feel my warmth beneath it.

Boys or girls... I've been going over and over the possibilities lately in my mind. If it's boys, Teddy and I will have some troops on our side and we'll be well on our way to a baseball team. If it's girls, I'll be so outnumbered I'll never win a family vote again—not that I ever do anyway—and I'll definitely have a heart attack by fifty. Oh who am I kidding, the heart attack is happening regardless. But, the good kind of heart attack. The one that feels worth it.

It seems like yesterday we brought Teddy home, all swaddled up in that blue blanket and teddy bear jumpsuit Mia gave him. Having a baby was all so new then. Ana was a pro immediately. I, on the other hand, was a terrified, elated, exhausted mess of emotions I never knew existed before. I was sort of like that trail mix you get at the Whole Foods; the kind where you find something sweet, tart and a new kind of nutty in every bite.

He cried so much those first weeks. It was day and night, but mostly night. Only two things soothed him. One was me driving with him to the local liquor store, always after midnight, after a scenic route through the neighborhood. It had to be Carnival 8 Liquors with the lit-up clown on the sign that waves. I found the thing terrifying, be he absolutely loved it. I kept the car running as he watched the neon clown, eventually falling asleep with the hum of the engine rocking him. He looked so peaceful and sweet. I, on the other hand, looked like some creep scoping out the drink joint, looking to hop some beer and make a run with it. My great fear was that paparazzi were going to catch me with my newborn son outside this place and headlines would read: _Billionaire Bails on Bride and Boozes with Baby Boy on Board_ , but thankfully they never did. And the second thing was him laying on my chest as we watched Mexican soap operas at 3am. I don't know what it was about it, but that telenovela passion filled Spanish made him sleep like a log and I found myself wanting to catch the next episode just to see if Pablo manned up and confessed his affair to Lola who was already screwing shirtless stable boy Antonio in the barn that jealous Marina was about to set on fire. Teddy loved the warmth of my chest... It was a novelty to give comfort from a place I only knew pain before Ana. And it surprised me how much I loved to hold him there. Yes, it would be nice to have two little mini me's to teach how to throw a ball again, or crash cars into stacks of blocks, or have man talk over mashed bananas and apple juice. I miss having a little boy. Sure, Teddy's still only six, but then again he's almost seven.

But then I think of little girls... If I thought I was afraid finding out I was having a boy, I could never have imagined the depth of terror instilled in me when Dr. Greene looked at the ultrasound and said those three words— _it's a girl_. Of course I loved Phoebe completely already, and heck she was the only baby we've actually planned for, but deep down I feared I would do everything wrong for a daughter. Until I held her in my arms and she looked up at me with those big blue eyes like her mother's and I knew it was impossible for me to ever do wrong by her. It's interesting, when a father holds a son he looks forward to the good man he'll help shape him one day to be, but when that same father holds a daughter all he'll ever see is his baby girl. And though I don't tell this to anyone, except maybe Ana, I do love wearing those silly hats to Phoebe's high teas, and playing dolls, and getting my hair done with Chester, and just being allowed the privilege to be a mere peasant in her royal court. The heart I never knew I had is bursting with pink unicorn poop because of my girl. And to think I could crown three daughters real life princesses... Well, there's not much better a father can do in life.

Boys or girls?—yes.

"Whatever you two are, I love you." I kiss Ana's belly and it feels like butterflies dancing against my smile.

Ana stirs and grumbles. Shit, I've woken her.

"Sorry, Sir; I've been such a bad girl," she mumbles and this immediately grabs my attention. I look over and see she's definitely not awake. She's sleeping, and from the sounds of it, sleeping well.

"Cover your ears, kids," I say into her belly and then look to Ana, who's all sweaty and flushed from whatever dream she's having.

"I didn't eat my strawberries..." Why does she always have erotic dreams about strawberries? Because food it taboo to her? "Oh please, have mercy," she says. I slink my way up the length of her body so I'm facing her.

"What do you want me to do to you?" I whisper into her ear and she bucks and shudders. Her eyes are fluttering as she licks her lips and groans. It's like she's watching a porno on the backs of her eyelids.

Oh this could be fun.

I run my fingertips over her satin covered nipple and she gasps.

"Please, let me come, Sir," she says, breathy and wanton. Damn this is hot.

"Like this?" I pinch her nipple and she nods, begging me with her moans. I hope the babies aren't listening to this.

"That's not for you to decide, is it?" I ask and she shakes her head as I pull her breast outside her camisole. "I'll decide how I make you come." I nip and tug at her peak.

"Yes, Sir," she murmurs and my cock jumps.

I move my fingers down her body and trace the top edge of her panties. "I think I'll make you come like this." I slip my fingers inside, luxuriously running them along her lips and between her folds, paying special attention to her swollen bud. She's so wet. God, I want a taste of her, but I don't want her to wake up without coming a geyser all over my hand.

"Feel me," I say as I tease her entrance with my fingertips, then place two fingers inside her, making sure my palm puts pressure on her clit as I pump them in and out of her.

"Oh god, please... yessss," she cries, moving her hips to my torturous rhythm.

"Whose are you? Tell me and I'll let you come."

"Yours," she says and shivers. "I'm yours, Sir. Always." I smile at _always_.

"Good girl," I say and I can feel her quickening and pulsating. She's warm and dripping and biting her lip as her breath hitches and she tips her head back in ecstasy.

She's so ready. God, I'm in love.

"Come for me, Ana," I say and on command she explodes. I bring my mouth to hers to absorb her moans. This is so fucking hot.

I pull back and suddenly her eyes pop open.

"Oh my god," she pants. "What just happened?" She's still breathless and more than a little confused.

"Apparently, you were having a dream about strawberries," I say, removing my fingers and showing her the evidence of her satisfaction before popping them into my mouth. "Mighty fine, Mrs. Grey."

She doesn't say anything, she just launches herself at me and as the alarm finally goes off I'm moaning a garbled version of her name into the flesh of her neck as I spill myself inside of her.

#######

"I think it's gonna be turtle people who are boys," Teddy says as he eats his breakfast, more oatmeal going on his shirt than in his mouth.

"You think your mother is having turtles?" I ask and Ana laughs as she nibbles her bacon. Those lips and what they did to me... God, this morning was so hot, I can't stop thinking about it.

"Yeah, but not like regular turtles, turtles from Jupiteron who are going to steal all of the people of the earth and make us robots in space!"

"Intergalactic turtle robots from Jupiteron?" I ask and he nods like it's the coolest thing ever. What the hell is Jupiteron? And what is this thing he has with reptile-kind taking over the world? I think he's been watching old _Godzilla_ movies with Elliot again. At least he's over those Mexican soap operas. I can't stand the suspense of cliffhangers like that anymore. "Good to see you think so highly of your siblings."

"Mommy can't have turtles!" Phoebe says, blowing her bangs, exasperated as she rolls bacon up in her pancake, dips it in syrup and eats it like a breakfast fajita. "Mommies can only have baby peoples and the cutest things like kittens and chickies and hamsters." Chester, in Scooby Doo pajamas and oversized furry purple bedroom slippers on his back feet, stands on her shoulder, waving his paws in agreement. Or maybe he's just trying to grab a hunk of her pancake.

"Hey, stop eyeing my wife, Chester," I say as I take a bite out of my toast and he turns his ass to my buttered bread. Typical. That lazy rodent is going right back to his Barbie dream house waterbed as soon as Phoebe leaves for school.

"We better get you two washed up," Gail says, encouraging the kids along.

"Ugh!" the kids say, almost in unison. Chester swipes the piece of pancake Phoebe just set down and scurries back up to her shoulder. Breakfast in bed for him.

"Yes, go get ready," Ana says and they both grimace and grumble as they drag themselves up from their seats like they're wading through a river of molasses as they head to the door.

"Don't look so excited to get an education," I call after them.

"Why do I gotta go to school?" Teddy asks.

"So you don't become a trash man."

"But, I wanna be a trash man," he says and I shake my head.

"I wanna be a ballerina princess president who doctors animals boo-boos and makes dresses and does make-ups for peoples and spies for good peoples to get back from the bad ones their stolen houses," Phoebe says.

"Exactly; go to school," I say.

Ana laughs as she starts to clear the plates and they head out with Gail.

"What do you think you're doing?" I ask.

"Cleaning up from breakfast," she says.

"Let Gail do that." I stand and take the plate from her hand and set it back down.

"She's getting the kids ready for school."

"Ana, the dishes can wait. I don't want you tiring yourself out."

"You didn't seem too worried about that this morning," she giggles.

"Well, that's one of the activities that's encouraged on the list."

"Oh really? On what list?"

"Mine; sex, eating, sleeping, shopping and nothing else."

She laughs and then squeals as I wrap my arms around her and pull her back against me. "Are you excited to find out today?" I nuzzle her hair as I stroke her belly and she places both of her hands on top of mine.

"About that..." she says and slowly turns to face me, taking my hands in hers. What's this? "I was thinking maybe we shouldn't find out today."

"What do you mean you don't want us to find out the sex of the babies today?" I pull back. "I can't go all the way until delivery not knowing. How can we paint the nursery appropriately, or pick out names, or assign the proper security detail?"

"I didn't mean we won't find out at all. I meant just not today."

"You want to reschedule the appointment? Why?"

"No; we're going to the appointment. It's just that some moms told me about a cute idea..."

"Oh no!" I hold my hands up in the air.

"You don't even know what the idea is," she says.

"Trust me, I don't have to. Nothing those moms come up with is a good idea. Ever. Look at their husbands."

"Christian!"

"It's true; a cute idea for those moms is bedazzling old sweatpants from some shit they saw on Pinterest."

"It's really clever—"

"It's sweatpants, Ana. All you need is a glue gun and plastic rhinestones; since when did that require an online recipe?" She laughs. "You know, Phoebe could glitter those craft hungry broads under the table."

"No, I'm not talking about the sweatpants; I'm talking about the idea for us!"

I rub my brow and sigh. She's not giving up on this.

"Okay, for shits and giggles—" She giggles, of course. "Impart me with this Nobel prize worthy idea, why don't you."

 _Drumroll..._

"We have a gender reveal party," she says.

"What? No, never! That sounds absolutely perverse!"

"Hear me out. We have a party—like a pre-baby shower— and we find out in front of all our friends and family when we cut the cake. What do you think?"

"I think I have a better idea—we don't."

"Christian—"

"What does cake have to do with it, anyway?"

"If it's a blue cake it's boys, if it's pink it's girls..."

"This whole thing sounds like a nightmare I would have."

"Why?"

"Because something special like that shouldn't be announced with me eating baked goods for a crowd."

"It could be so much fun to be surprised."

"Surprises and parties and me don't make an equation that ever equals fun." She thinks this is all hilarious. "Besides, I don't like to be surprised, not even by myself."

"You said you liked being surprised when I wore that leather g-string."

"Ana, your ass and cake aren't the same thing." Well, actually maybe...

"Seriously, why would I want to find out the sex of our children in front of Jose?" I ask.

"He might not be there; he's been in the desert somewhere taking photos for an exhibit."

"Oh, trust me, he'll be there. If he has to hitch onto the back of a sand crab and then float up a river on a raft of sticks held together by his father's fishing line and his old gum, he'll be there."

"Yes, and just think..." she inches closer and starts to play with my fingers. She knows I'm mush when she does that. "It'll be a whole party focused on the products of our lovemaking."

I look at her for a moment. She's still playing with my fingers. She's seriously giving me a hand job.

"Why do you do that?" I ask.

"Do what?"

"Say something like that so I can't possibly refuse?"

"So you're not refusing?"

"I didn't say that."

"You actually did."

"Ana—"

"Come on, your mom and my mom would love it!" That's true; they would. Better hide the tequila and find the smelling salts. "Your sister would go crazy for it!"

"Okay, even if I did agree to it—which I'm not saying I am—how does this even take place? Who orders the cake? Dr. Greene?" Hell, the president of the chess club at the local high school would throw a better party on a dry Wednesday afternoon in the band room than Dr. Greene. The only fun that woman has in life is collecting our checks and soaking in her hot tub with that out-of-work Brillo pad of a husband, trying to think up ways to sabotage our future birth control for profit. I would suggest we leave her for this, but I do love all of her work so.

"No, we have Dr. Greene write it down and seal it in an envelope and we give it to someone close to us who is in charge of the cake," Ana says.

"Who's close to us that bakes—Gail?"

"I thought maybe Kate," she scrunches her nose and bites her thumb tip as she says it.

"Kate doesn't bake! She barely re-heats."

"No, but she could take the information to a bakery."

"Oh no, she can't know first! She's not lording that kind of knowledge over me—"

"Please, Christian. It would only be a couple of days. And she wants to help throw the party. She's great at throwing parties."

"Yeah, keg stands!"

"Christian—"

"You've already talked to her about this?"

"She was one of the moms with the ideas."

Of course—Kavanagh would dream up a situation where she's the only one with the scoop on my life. She's probably bored at that rag she works at and needed to get her jollies off somewhere and being able to mind fuck me for days on end seemed like a good way to pass the time.

"I don't know, Ana. I was rather looking forward to knowing today." I move to sit back in my seat. "Just you and me..."

"Please," she says, sitting in my lap. "We could get the party together for the weekend." She wraps her arms around my neck and lays her head on my shoulder. "I think it could be really fun and it would mean a lot to me..." She plants feather kisses on my neck and of course I'm jello and I know jello can never take a real stand.

"Fine," I sigh and she gives me a big kiss on the lips. "On one condition..." I murmur against her mouth.

"Anything." She pulls back, beaming at me. I do like to see her happy. Even at the expense of my better judgement.

"We have the party Saturday afternoon..." I say. "And then we take a trip to Escala that evening..." I run my finger down her chest to her belly. "To really celebrate the making of our babies."

"I think we've celebrated quite a lot since the initial event."

"Yes, but you can never celebrate too much." I nip at her earlobe and run my fingers down her thigh. "And I want to celebrate in private with you." I kiss her neck. I'm tempted to make a hickey there, but I know how she gets about that. And with her pregnancy hormones and a still hot frying pan nearby, I won't tempt fate. "I thought maybe we could make your dream this morning a reality."

"You don't have to twist my panties to get me there." She giggles.

"Oh, though I so want to..." I run my hand over her hip and thigh, and then under the satin of her robe until my fingers find her panty edge. "I'd rather tie you up in them."

"How about now?" she whispers in my ear and blows, sending shivers up my spine, and giving my jello a leg to stand on.

"We have to take the kids to school soon and then go to the appointment."

She gets up off my lap and heads to the door, turning to me as she reaches it, and opens her robe.

Holy shit.

She hooks her fingers in her panties and peels the green satin down her milky white thighs and calves and over her ankles. I imagine my tongue following such a delicious path of vanilla goddess goodness.

"Work fast, Boy Scout," she says and throws them to me. I catch them just before she makes her way out the door.

"Damn," I say to myself as my dick salutes, and honoring my Cub Scout turned Man Scout, I dutifully follow her upstairs to earn another patch for good behavior.

#######

"Don't ask any sex questions," Ana whispers to me as we sit out in the lobby of Dr. Greene's office. Why the hell are we sitting out here, anyway? I pay Dr. Greene enough, she should make house calls like the old days. Sure, in the old days all she'd have to carry is a faulty shot and a judgmental scowl and now it would be ultrasound equipment and such, but still... I could have a state-of-the-art exam room made for her in our home. With all the kids we have, it'd be an investment. And I wouldn't have to sit next to some mousy woman reading an article about chronic yeast in Women's Day who's own day passed go north of 1992. The least Dr. Greene could do is take us on time.

"Ana, a man has to know these things to be safe," I say. Yeast Woman nods her head, though I don't think she's agreeing with me; it looks like she vehemently relates to something in the article.

"Christian, I could've told you that the extra weight of twins doesn't sag the uterus so much your penis will hit them and cause neurological damage," Ana says.

"I wanted a professional to back that opinion up." I point a finger. "I broke your water with Teddy, don't you forget it."

She giggles. Why does she always giggle at this?

I see Dr. Greene's invested in a television circa 1985. It's probably the one she had at home before she put the screening room in on the Grey family dime. Two small boys are watching a _Sesame Street_ focused on the letter Z. It's a favorite episode of mine.

"And if you ask her if the six week rule for no sex post birth is doubled for twins one more time, I'll make sure it's twelve," Ana says. She's a spitfire today, reading her _US_ magazine. You would think she'd be a little more relaxed after four orgasms this morning and all that regurgitated Hollyweird gossip that numbs the brain.

"Ana, the thought just terrifies me so; I need to be certain." Yeast woman is laughing now. I look over. She's still reading the yeast article. Troubling.

"Horsey!" one little boy yells at the top of his lungs as a picture of a galloping striped animal flashes on screen.

"No, that's a zebra," I say and the kids just look at me.

"Nuh uh," the other boy says. "That's a horsey with muddy side parts."

"Believe me, I know this episode. Z is for _Zebra_ ," I sound it out. People around are looking at me like I'm insane.

"Christian, stop arguing with the children," Ana says.

"I'm not arguing; I'm educating."

"Well, do the educating at home."

"That sounds intriguing." I raise a brown and she rolls her eyes.

"Is this your first?" some woman who's knitting socks in a dress that looks like the flag of Ireland mated with the flag of Spain on a drunken night in Rome, says. That's probably the story of how she got pregnant.

"No," Ana says. "Our third."

"Our fourth!" I say.

"No, it's our third pregnancy," Ana says.

"Yes, but it's our third and fourth."

"That's true. So four, but only really three."

"You forgot?" Knit Woman asks.

"Twins," I say and she nods, returning to her booties. Why are knitters always so nosey, flipping their judgmental sticks like that? And does any child ever really wear those socks? It seems counterproductive with all the holes in them.

"Do you think she'll know we had sex?" Ana asks.

"You mean that Knit-Wit over there?" I whisper, laughing at my own joke.

"No! Dr. Greene."

"Well, that's an indication," I nod to her belly and laugh."

"No, I mean this morning. Do you think she can tell we..."

"Fucked?" I whisper in her ear.

"Shh!" Ana says, though I think that kind of turned her on. She's blushing.

"Big fat tummy like my daddy!" One of the boys yells out with arms in the air.

"That's a zero!" I say, not able to resist.

"It's a person!" The kid says.

"No, it's just an animated walking, talking zero." Oh look, I just described the photographer.

"Who is this guy?" the other boy asks.

"Big Bird's best friend,"I say.

"Really?" they both ask in unison, looking at me in awe and Ana elbows me.

"I'm serious, Christian."

"Okay, I won't watch the TV anymore."

"No, I mean what I asked you before." She crinkles her nose.

"You're still on the sex?" she nods. "Well... Yeah, I think a doctor can tell these things during the exam."

"Really?" Ana asks. "How?"

"There are probably a few of my swimmers left from the dive."

Ana gasps, closing her US magazine fast and throwing it on the pile of others. "Oh my god, are you serious?"

"Ana, who cares?"

"Because it's too personal."

"She's looking up your vagina with telescopic equipment, that's definitely more than personal. I don't even see all that." I think I said all that too loud. Yeast Woman tore her face away from the article and is looking at me with those goggly eyes. And I deduce that she's not only interested in that article because of chronic infections; she actually has the face of a baked loaf of bread.

"Grey," that old dowager nurse Pearl calls out as she opens the door. I think she's been at this job for a hundred and fifty years and she wants everyone to suffer because of it.

I help Ana up and escort her to the door.

"In the old days we didn't let fathers come in," Nurse Pearl says with a snarl directed at my penis.

"FDR lifted that ban during the war, remember?" I say as we scoot past her inside.

Ana's legs hang over the side of the metal exam table as I stand next to her, waiting for the doctor to show. Now dressed in that little gown, she's adorable as she swings her legs back and forth and I can tell she's nervous. We both are. I remember the first time I saw her in one of those gowns in this exam room. We had been married just under five months and we were told we were going to have a son. I held her hand then, too.

Sometimes I think about the first time she told me about Teddy. The way I behaved. That's one of the darkest moments of my life, so I don't like to relive it much, but sometimes... When I look back, I'd say most twenty-two-year old girls in the same situation wouldn't have had the guts to call me on my shit the way Ana did. But, Ana being Ana, did just that. She did what any mother should do. She did what my mother should've done. It's hard to believe I didn't want a family then. And here I am excitedly waiting to find out about twins. And as I watch her on this exam table, I realize that the only reason I'm a father at all is because Ana first was a mother.

"I love you, Mrs. Grey," I say and I lean in and softly kiss her mouth. "So much."

"What's that for?" she asks.

"Everything."

"Mrs. Grey," Dr. Greene says as she swings the door open, reading the file she plucked from outside the door as she comes inside. "Everything is looking good. Weight, vitals—"

"Don't tell her that, she's not eating nearly enough," I say.

Dr. Greene just looks at me for a second. "Mr. Grey, hello." I think she just rolled her eyes at me! "I'm happy everything is going so smoothly, Mrs. Grey, considering your case."

"What do you mean considering?" I ask, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest.

"Twins always pose a higher risk. But, it's all going smoothly."

"What does that mean?"

"Did you hear me say everything is going well?" she asks.

"Yes, but I also heard _higher_ and _risk_ next to each other."

"Christian, she's saying we're fine," Ana says, stroking her belly.

I nod as I put my arm around her and kiss her head, but make a mental note to do further research about twins and potential dangers later.

"Do either of you have any questions before we do the ultrasound?"

Both and Ana and Dr. Greene look straight to me.

"Yes, I do have questions, thank you," I give them both a look. "Let's start with feeding concerns," I say as I pull out my list and start to read and they both sigh. "Now, if one baby sucks all the milk out of one breast and the other baby only sucks a little out of the other one, does the milk transfer from the milk heavy breast to the one that's been depleted, or does the more vigorous eater get more, while the timid one starves?" This is a great fear of mine.

"Mr. Grey," Dr. Greene says. "There's no milk transfer line between breasts.

"So what if one is hungry and it all just runs out because Ana's body can't tell there are two?" Or three, with me involved.

"Believe me, she'll keep making milk. If she has any problems with production, we'll deal with it then. But, she's always been a pro."

"You're telling me," I say and Ana elbows me. "And if I happen to get some milk—"

"Christian!" Ana says, horrified. Geez, every little thing embarrasses her.

"Mr. Grey, breast milk can't hurt you if that's what you're inferring." Hurt me? Au contraire. I'm hoping I can still count on late night snacks.

"I just want to make sure the babies have enough," I say.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Dr. Greene says. I make a mental note to research this further, as well.

I look down at my list. "I'm also still a bit concerned with that uterus sagging issue."

"Christian!" Ana's had it.

"Mr. Grey, why don't we do the ultrasound and then you can ask questions. I'm sure there will be more once we know the genders."

"No, actually we don't want to know," Ana says.

Dr. Greene looks at us questioningly.

"We're having a party," I say, with a slight eye roll.

"A gender reveal party," Ana adds.

"Oh that's nice." Dr. Greene is as warm as a rock lost in the snow and as interested as the bark of the tree witnessing it.

"Can you write it down and put it in a sealed envelope for us?" Ana asks.

"Of course," Dr. Greene says. "A lot of couples do that these days."

"Wonderful, we'll be like the flock," I say and Ana elbows me again. I think I'm going to have rib bruising later.

"I'll have to see if I can find a paper and envelope," Dr. Greene says.

"We don't want to trouble you too much." I smile patronizingly. "Maybe you should write it on the back of a bank deposit slip." Lord knows she has stacks of them. She ignores me per usual.

"Okay, let's do this," Dr. Greene says and gets her jelly stuff out to squirt on Ana's belly.

"Here, baby," I say, helping Ana onto her back and then I sit in my little chair beside her as Dr. Greene indicates for Ana to pull up her gown. It's the same chair I sat in for Teddy and Phoebe. The metal is always freezing cold and my ass always cramps from it, but I feel it brings good luck.

"Wait," I say, preventing Dr. Greene from administering the jelly and they both look at me. "That looks like it will be cold. Warm it up a bit before squirting it on my wife's skin."

"Christian, it's okay," Ana says.

"It shouldn't cause discomfort, Mr. Grey," Dr. Greene say as she squirts it on and Ana shivers.

"See, I knew it was cold!"

Dr. Greene places her little wand on Ana's belly and moves it around. The screen lights up with live pictures of our two beautiful children. This moment always gives me such a thrill.

"Look, there they are," Ana says and there are tears in her eyes. I squeeze her hand in response. "I see Teddy's chin on that one there." She points.

"You think?" I lean in closer, squinting. "Yeah, it does look like it. But, that one has Phoebe's nose. They both do."

"Your nose," Ana says and we smile at each other.

"They both have strong heartbeats," Dr. Greene says.

"Everything's okay?" I ask, holding my breath.

"I'd say you have two healthy looking babies."

"Oh, thank God," I exhale and bring Ana's hand to my mouth to kiss, nuzzling her fingers a bit.

"Well, I could impart some information..." Dr. Greene says, somewhat serious.

"Oh my God! What is it?" I ask, panicked.

"I know we weren't sure last time..." she says.

"Tell us!" I say.

"I am fairly confident that your twins are monozygotic."

"Oh God! What is that?!" I stand up suddenly and stumble as the blood rushes out of my head and I nearly faint.

"Identical," Dr. Greene says.

"Identical to what?" I ask, the desperation evident in my voice.

"Each other." Dr. Greene shakes her head and actually cracks a smile. "You're having identical twins."

The whole world stops.

"Oh Christian," Ana says and I move to hold her.

"Oh baby, she said—"

"Identical," she says, starting to weep."

"They'll look the same!"

"Yes!"

"They'll be beautiful, like you."

"No, like you."

"Oh Ana, I love you so much."

"I love you so much, too."

She kisses me and I passionately kiss her back to show her my love, pouring everything I feel into this kiss.

Dr. Greene clears her throat. "I know I'm in the baby making business, but I don't need to see the process."

We stop and both pull back from our embrace.

"I guess we got carried away." I look down. Shit, I had my hand on Ana's tit. I do that every time.

"Do you know what they are?" I ask and Dr. Greene nods, not giving anything away.

I look at the screen to see if I, with my layman's eye, can see the evidence of either. I'm not sure how you see evidence of girls, except for the obvious lack of evidence of boys. But, everything I see on screen looks like a penis to me. And I suddenly regret giving Kavanagh the go ahead for this party.

How the hell can I hold out until Saturday?


	9. Mother's Day

_**This is a little story I thought to write on Mother's Day. It's set during the same timeframe of this story, but is more like a separate little outtake. I will update the rest of gender reveal party shortly. Hope you enjoy this in the meantime! You have all been so wonderful to me. I so appreciate it! xox Ash**_

My life started the day after Mother's Day. Elliot, Mia and I had lunch with my parents that Sunday in May 2011—the 8th before the 9th—but I wasn't in the mood for celebrating. I never was. Grace made a comment as to which one of us would give her a grandchild first. Hands down, they all thought it would be Elliot by mistake. I knew it would absolutely never be me. I drove home that evening well before the others and went to bed alone. I woke up the same. I thought I liked quiet mornings, but looking back they were never really quiet. Quiet comes from peace; silence is deafening. It was a dreary, bleak, cold day that Monday after Mother's Day and it remained that way until a stumble at my door brought part to the clouds and noise to my world. And the following Mother's Day my wife would be a new mother to my son—Grace's first grandchild. What a difference a Mother's Day makes.

#######

"Shhh, be very quiet, we don't want to wake your mother," I say in a conspiratorial whisper as I carry Phoebe on my back down the stairs with Teddy in front of us. It's six o'clock on Mother's Day morning and we're on a secret mission—Operation Make Mommy Breakfast in Bed.

"Yeah, be shush Chester," Phoebe says, with a finger to her lips, to the little rodent sitting on her shoulder in a yellow polka dot jumpsuit and caterpillar slippers. Fitting— he looks pissed that anyone dared to drag him from his cocoon this early. I'm not quite sure why we did, but Phoebe assured me he has quality "cook boy" skills. The way he lives off Barbie, wears Versace leather, and dates around it's more like "fuck boy". Whatever the case, he better not shit a raisin on the oatmeal in revenge.

"Teddy, quit hopping down the steps!" I whisper yell as he takes them rabbit style. "You'll break your neck!"

"But, I hopped all of them down yesterday and my neck is still together."

"Well, if you walked a tight rope over Niagara Falls in a lightning storm and miraculously made it across within inches of your life, would you do it again?"

"Yeah, prolly," he shrugs. I shake my head. Why aren't my kids scared of anything? And although it means quadruple security and surveillance and strokes for Dad in their teen years, this fact makes me smile.

"So here's the game plan, troops," I say as we reach the kitchen. "Pancakes, bacon and English Breakfast tea—your mother's favorites." I have to smile remembering that first morning she made me pancakes. She was so cute dancing around in my shirt. I was painfully in love, even if I didn't know it myself at the time. I had a flash of hope that morning that she would dance like that, with me, forever. But, no way did I ever picture anything like this.

"I want to make Mommy gummy bear pancakes!" Phoebe says as I put her down to sit on the center island. "And then I'm gonna put the brown chocolate sprinkles for hair and blue Skittles for her eyes and red ones for her lip parts to make it smile up at her like it's saying 'happy to be your breakfast, Mommy'."

"That sounds lovely. But, how are you going to make all that stick?" I ask.

She scrunches her nose and thinks about it for a second, and then with all the assurance and confidence of a future CEO, comes to her decision—"peanut butter."

"But, Dad!" Teddy says, with angst and plea. "I wanna make Mommy my most famous cheesy crunchy tater recipe ever!"

"Like hash browns?" I ask.

"They're potato chips with cream cheese stuck to the tops."

"So, like Philadelphia nachos?" I ask.

He nods, though I'm sure he has no idea what I'm talking about.

"When have you ever eaten or made that?" I ask.

"I didn't yet; I just thought of it like right now."

"Then how can it be the most famous recipe ever?"

"'Cause I don't have any others. So, it's famous because it's above nothing." What is this, the Kardashians of breakfast?"

"Fair point well made," I say. "Fine. At least that should satisfy your mother's salt and dairy cravings." Every night before bed she's been drinking a full glass of milk and eating a pickle. And not one of those little guys either—the big whoppers you can barely get your lips around. I gladly encourage this evening ritual, because there is nothing hotter than watching my pregnant wife take down that thing. The way that juice dribbles and sometimes hits her breasts. And then with the milk! Fuck, I may have to video tape it for future use.

"Why do babies like such weirdo stuff, Daddy?" Phoebe asks as I pull out the various bowls and pans I think we'll use. I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing, aside from watching some teased-to-the-heavens blonde woman on the food network last week—who called herself "Morning Rae"—make an elaborate juice smoothie that looked like the upchuck byproduct of a rough night of strawberry daiquiris, hangover McDonalds, and the grass ingested when fallen over drunk in the lawn. Trust me, she was no "Rae of sunshine", she was more like "who's afraid of the dark". I also tried to pay attention yesterday when Gail was making breakfast, but I didn't want Ana to get too suspicious of me staring at Gail's eggs.

"That's a good question," I say. "I'm not sure, but all babies want something oddly different." Oh—a juicer dish thing! I pull it out. I saw two oranges in the fridge. That should be more than enough for a pitcher of fresh juice.

"What did I want for cravies when I was in Mommy's belly?" Phoebe asks.

"You, princess, had me go out after midnight for white anchovy and double garlic pizza." I can tell you there was no sex on those nights. Lord, people at the office smelled it on me the next day after a shower and aftershave and all I did was sleep next to her. Oh wait, yeah there was probably sex anyway, too. Like garlic would keep me away.

"Is 'chovies like fancy cheese?" she asks.

"No, it's like little smelly salty fish."

"Eww! On my pizza?" she asks and I nod. "Geez, I was weird when I was young!"

I look over and see Teddy is rummaging through the refrigerator. He pulls out a block of cream cheese, sets it down on the floor, then goes in again.

"What are you doing over there?" I ask as he pulls out the biggest package of bacon I've ever seen. Does our family really eat that much that Gail has to buy warehouse style?

"I'm gonna make the bacon," Teddy says.

"Oh no, you're not!" I say.

"How come?"

"Because you're not doing anything that requires your hands near hot grease or fire. I'll make the bacon and you can help by observation."

"Is obser-ti-tation a job?" he asks.

"That's more than half of Taylor's day."

"Do you know how to cook the bacons Daddy?" Phoebe asks.

"Sure, it's simple..." Gulp. "You take a pan." What does a pan look like? Oh yeah, the flat skillet things. I pick one up, but I'm not sure if it's a wide short sided pot or a pan with aspirations. What constitutes a pot? Is there criteria? Oh who the fuck knows; it'll work. And the other stereotypical pans look too small to hold all my pork. "Then, you turn on the fire." I place the pan on a burner and put it on high. "Well, I do, not you. Don't go anywhere near the fire." I open the package—which I double-check is nitrate free— and have no idea how many to choose, so I just throw them all in. I'm glad I chose the biggest pan. I wonder how many pieces that is. Oh well, it's Mother's Day.

"What if she smells the bacon?" Teddy asks.

"Trust me, if she suspects it's me cooking, she'll think she's dreaming." I take Teddy's hand and lead him over to the sink. "Come on, we have to wash our hands," I say.

"Why do I gotta wash them, but not Phoebe?"

"Because boys is dirtier 'cause they're made from slug slime and puppy fur!" she says.

"Why would I wanna wash that off then?" he asks.

"It's because you were holding the bacon and bacon has germs on it," I say and triple wash our hands together. I don't want any swine-to-man transmitted diseases going on here. This isn't Kate's bedroom in college after all.

"Eww, bacon's full of bugs!" Phoebe squeals.

"Cool!" Teddy says.

"I don't want to eat bacon bugs!" Phoebe says.

"It's fine once they're all cooked off."

"I have to get my chips!" Teddy says like it's April 14th at a stroke before midnight and the taxes are due.

"I need to get my 'gredients, too!" Phoebe says hopping down and they fight it out to open the pantry door.

"Kids, come on! There's enough room in there for everyone!" That pantry's so big I could rent it out as a luxury New York City apartment.

"I found chocolate covered gummy bears!" Phoebe says.

"I found pickle flavored chips!" Teddy says.

"And pink heart sprinkles, too!" I can hear her jumping up and down. "I didn't ever know it could ever be so good!"

Geez, it's like the gold rush in there.

"Did you find everything you need?" I ask Phoebe as she returns to the island with an armful of stuff. She nods enthusiastically and heads back for more.

Teddy starts dragging bags of different kinds of potato chips out of the pantry and onto the floor where the cream cheese has remained this entire time. It's like a clown car of fried starch in there. Why do we have so many different brands that I've never seen before? What the hell are we doing with something advertised on the cover as extra special crinkle naturals exclusively from Maine? What the hell is a crinkle natural anyway? Potatoes with crinkles aren't natural. Or are they? I've never really looked. And why is this Maine exclusive? Do they soak them in a lobster tank or something?

"Why are you making all that on the floor?" I ask as he grabs a plate and plops down to his knees in front of his project.

"'Cause I could see it better when I'm closer to the earth." I hope Gail mopped last night. Although, I always make sure the floors are extra clean, considering everyone's always crawling around down there. Ana and I, pre-pregnancy, included.

"I got the peanut butter that's not all funny!" Phoebe says, coming out of the pantry with a huge jar.

"What's the funny peanut butter?" I ask.

"The one with the oily puddle at the top."

I look at the jar. Oh great, she's got the processed stuff with the grape jelly already included.

"Why the one with the jelly?"

"I think the babies should know about the good stuff right away."

"Dad, do the babies eat like fish?" Teddy asks.

"Like fish?"

"Like when Mommy eats the foods and it goes down the shoot into her tummy, do they open their mouths and eat it like the gold fish in Miss Tilly's bowl?"

"Your mother's belly is not like a fish bowl." Although, in some respects it kind of is, with all the fluid and roundness and such.

I can really smell the bacon now. It must be cooking good.

"I'm taking some from all the chip bags so Mommy could be surprised in every bite," Teddy says, so excited for his plan.

"Good idea," I say. She'll be surprised alright.

"I'm going to Paris next week, Chester," Phoebe says. I turn to see she's got the bowl on her head, pretending it's a sophisticated hat, as she eats the gummy bears. "We'll be there for the fashion shows and hot chocolate fountains. You'll have to wear your white shiny shoes. All the Paris boys do." Chester's not really listening. He's ass to the sky in the utensil container. His caterpillars are staring me down.

"Time to make the pancakes," I say.

"Yay!" She takes the bowl off her head and sets it down, then starts beating a spoon in it like a drum.

"Shhhh!" I say as I look for the pancake mix I illicitly bought last week and was hiding behind cans of California Clam Chowder nobody's touched since Phoebe was born. What the fuck is California chowder anyway— skinny shrimp in low fat milk? I think Taylor bought it; he's always had John Wayne dreams of doing war pictures in La La Land. I notice my pancake mix says it's a secret family recipe from Maine also. Who knew Maine held so many delicious secrets.

I open the bag and a poof of pancake powder flies up on my face. Phoebe and Teddy laugh. Chester even pokes his head up from the spoons to enjoy this. Of course, Dad's a clown.

"Oh you think it's funny, do you?" I shake my head demonstratively so pancake dust rains down on Phoebe and she giggles and claps her hands like it's the best thing that ever happened to her. And as I'm looking out at my children as we cook breakfast for their mother together, I'm thinking the same.

"You all won't be laughing when these delicious pancakes are made," I say as I put the mix into the bowl. What the fuck? I look at it. I thought this shit was pre-made. It's just a bunch of flour with a vague maple odor.

"Daddy, you gotta add the wet stuff," Phoebe says, of course knowing more about cooking than me.

"What's the wet stuff?" I ask.

"Pancake milk," she says.

"Where do you get pancake milk?"

"From breakfast cows."

"Well, since we don't have a breakfast cow on hand..." I look at the box. Fuck, I didn't know I needed oil, eggs and water. Why is it instant if it takes so many damn ingredients? Shouldn't you just pour it in and voila? I mean, cooking them is process enough. I may get my lawyers on this for false advertisement.

"Okay, wet ingredients," I say, looking at the back of the package again. Of course I've ripped the bag right where the directions to the ingredients are. All I can make out is— _3 cup oil._ I can't see what's before the three, so I'm not sure if there's some other directive I'm missing or they forgot to add the _s_ after cup. And what kind of oil? They also say add _ups water,_ but that's cut off , too. Plus, water has no flavor. Why would I ever add water? I go with three cups of the good olive oil. It's supposed to be the best and no one wants dry pancakes that taste like nothing.

"I wanna crack the eggs!" Phoebe says as I grab a carton from the fridge.

"No, I wanna do it!" Teddy says, jumping up from his concoction on the floor and up on a stool at the island. "I love cracking eggs!"

"Since when?" I ask.

"Since I knew there was a chance to find dinosaurs inside."

"Ahhhh!" Phoebe screams and backs away.

"There are no dinosaurs in these eggs," I say. "They're from chickens."

"Can I find chickens inside?" Teddy asks.

"Only if the rooster got past the farmer." That's happened to me twice.

"Huh?"

"Ask me again in ten years." I shake my head. "Okay, each of you crack one," I say handing them the eggs.

This was a mistake.

"I dropped it, Daddy," Phoebe says as hers lies splat beneath her.

"Here, try this one," I hand her another and move to clean hers up.

"This is cool!" Teddy crushes his egg against the side of the bowl and most of it ends up on the counter, but the rest plops on my head beneath him, dripping in me as I'm cleaning up this shit. I fear salmonella is leaking into my ear and going straight to my brain.

"Hey, watch it now," I say, wiping yolk from my head and hair with a dish towel.

"I lost shells in there," Phoebe says, pointing into the bowl.

I get up to look and she's right, she did. But, not a chunk or two. It's like it shattered into dozens of itty bitty pieces. I spend the next five minutes attempting to dig them out with an espresso spoon, but it's impossible. Once you think they're on the spoon and you've got them, they say fuck you and disappear into the egg slime again. It's enough to drive any sane person mad. And I'm not even all sane to begin with. Forget it! Before I call Flynn for self commitment papers, I scoop all of the egg part out, sacrificing some batter in the process, and start again.

"When do the flavors go in?" Phoebe asks after I finally get two whole eggs in.

"You can do it now," I say.

She begins to pour all the gummy bears into the mix. Then she adds sprinkles.

"What's that you're adding?"I ask as she pours a bunch of red things in her hand.

"Hot Latamies," she says.

"What's that?" I look at her box—hot tamales. "This is too spicy for Mommy."

"But, it's pretty, Daddy."

"Tell you what. Why don't you just use them to make earrings on your happy face at the end."

"That's a beautiful idea, Daddy!"

"What can I say? I'm familiar with Cartier."

"Daddy? Can I make Mommy toast?" Teddy asks.

"What? Why? We're making pancakes."

"But, I think she'd like toast, too."

"Okay, fine. Put a piece of bread in the toaster." He goes off to the pantry. "And don't put your hand in there!"

"Okay, let's stir this up!" Phoebe applauds as I start to stir with the spoon. Geez, this looks like a god awful mess. Olive oil and maple is an odd scent.

I look over to see Teddy trying to smash something down in the toaster.

"Teddy, what are you doing? I told you not to stick your hand in there!"

"I didn't stick it. I think my toast is stuck."

"Keep stirring," I hand the spoon to Phoebe who plays Betty Crocker Jr. as I move to Teddy.

"That's not bread, that's a croissant," I say, pulling the chocolate stuffed pastry out—crumbs everywhere. Like a hundred years from now they'll still be finding them.

"I thought she'd like it better."

"Well fine. But, warm it up in the microwave for thirty seconds. Not in the toaster."

"Daddy it's stirred good!" Phoebe says.

"How do you know?" I ask.

"'Cause my arm got ti-red."

"Okay, let's do this." I pull out this portable breakfast griddle thing I find under the sink and turn it on.

"How big should we make them?" I ask.

"Bigger than her head for sure," Phoebe says.

"Why's that?"

"It's more fun cause you know you ate more than your head and stuffed it full in your tummy and then you know you winned the game of life."

"Well, I think her tummy is winning the game of life all on its own right now." I pour a heaping mess of batter onto the skillet. I expected it to look rounder than this. Maybe it's all the bears. Jesus, it looks like a maple mudslide took out a Yellowstone grizzly community. I don't think she stirred that well, either. There are huge balls of flour throughout. Oh well, maybe they'll cook off.

"Dad, the bacon is cooking hard!" Teddy says.

"Don't touch it. It's fine. We want to cook off all the listeria."

"Is that the bugs?" Phoebe asks.

"Yes."

"But, Dad—"

"Teddy—" I look around. Holy shit! There's smoke shooting off of the stove.

"Don't touch the pancakes!" I say to Phoebe and run over to the bacon. Shit! "Stay back!" I grab the handle to get it off the flame.

"Damn it!" I burned the hell out of my hand.

"Daddy said a bad word!" Teddy says.

"Naughty naughty!" Phoebe says.

I turn the flame off, grab a pot holder and move the pan to a cool burner. Oh fuck. My bacon is all stuck to the pan and burnt to a crisp. I grab a spatula and try to lift the strips, but it's no use. I keep scraping and scraping... All I'm left with is blackened bits.

"Daddy, I don't think the pancakes is doing nothing," Phoebe says.

"What do you mean?"

"There's no pop pop bubbles."

"Don't touch anything!" I run over to the griddle. Shit! She's right. Nothing's happening. "What? Why aren't they cooking?" I look down. Fuck! I didn't know you had to plug it in!

Just then the fire alarm goes off.

"Daddy, what's that?" Phoebe asks.

"It's from the smoke," I say, trying to wave it away with a dish towel.

"We gotta do a fire drill!" Teddy says.

"There's no fire, it's just smoke from before," I say.

Within seconds, Taylor arrives in the room in his pajamas with a fire extinguisher. He's so up and ready for danger, that one.

"Sir! What's happening?" Taylor asks. I can't believe this man wears silky pajamas I thought he slept on nails or something

"I'm just cooking breakfast!" I say as the smoke begins to clear.

#######

"Happy Mother's Day!" the kids and I say as we greet Ana in the bedroom with our tray. The bacon's in bits; the pancakes are cooked and decorated to the hilt, but now a bit cold; and a teacup for Twining's English Breakfast tea sits beside, bag out, of course.

"Oh, this is beautiful! I love it!" Ana says without any evidence of a thought to the contrary as I set the tray on her lap—doing my best to avoid her growing belly—and the kids climb in beside her.

"What is all this?" she asks as I sit in the edge of the bed beside them.

"Daddy and I made the pancakes," Phoebe says. "See there's your blue eyes," she points to the Skittles. "And your red smile and brown sprinkle hair."

"The Hot Tamale earrings were Dad's idea," I say and she smiles.

"Oh Phoebe, they're the most beautiful I've ever seen!"

"And this is my recipe," Teddy says. "You gotta taste it!"

Ana, being the bravest, most wonderful mother I could possibly know takes a full potato chip covered in cream cheese and puts it in her mouth without a moment's hesitation.

"This is delicious, Teddy! You're such a good cook!"

"He learned it from me." I wink and she smiles with a mischievously disobedient eye-roll only for me.

"Oh and little bacon crumbles!" Ana says, tasting one. Damn, I cooked that whole package and all I got was a handful of crumbs.

"Daddy set them on fire!" Teddy says. "I thought we'd have to call the firemen and ride in the truck to the hospital."

"What?!" Ana asks and Phoebe laughs at this.

"There was no fire!" I say. "Only a little smoke. It was a huge misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding with the fire alarm?" Ana asks.

"Yes. Those things are always dramatically seeking attention."

"Oh, and you squeezed fresh juice," Ana says, looking at her little glass. How does two oranges only yield four sips?! "It's so good," she says as she drinks it, but I can see her sneak spit a seed into her napkin.

"We got you flowers, too," Phoebe says, pointing to the springtime mix in the purple vase the kids picked out at the right-hand corner of her tray.

"Yeah, 'cause Daddy says we always gotta give hearts and flowers," Teddy says.

"Daddy said that, did he?" she asks and looks at me, smiling.

"Yes, he did," I say, and I smile in return.

"Read the card we made!" Phoebe says, lifting the glittering pink construction paper up. There's a crayon drawing on the front of Ana wearing a crown of many colors.

" _Mommy you are Queen!_ " Ana reads and then opens it up, pink glitter spilling all over her camisole. " _You rule our house with love and always make everything better with your heart_." Ana sniffs a tear as she holds it to her chest. "I love this so much," she says as she cries.

"It's true, you know." I kiss her cheek where the teardrop fell and pull out a small familiar red box from my pocket.

"Oh Christian—"

"Happy Mother's Day!" I say as I hand it to her.

"Oh my word," she says as she opens the box and takes out a charm for her bracelet—a jewel studded crown.

"They're all of our birthstones," I say pointing to the the jewels covering the intricately detailed piece. "There are ours together at the top, then Teddy's and Phoebe's," I point.

"What are the missing ones?" she asks, noticing the empty spots.

"For the babies after they're born, and any future members we may add," I say, brushing her belly with my hand.

"Future members, huh?" She shakes her head as she smiles.

"At least eight," I grin.

"Thank you." She puts a hand to my face and brushes my cheek.

"No, thank you, Ana." I lean in to give her a kiss.

"Gross!" Teddy says.

"It's okay, Teddy," Phoebe says. "They're married."

"Exactly! When you're married you can kiss, too. But, only then."

The kids jump off the bed and start running around trying to hit each other with gummy bears.

"Hey now! Careful! Those bears could take an eye out!" Of course they pay me no mind.

I turn to Ana and lean in to whisper in her ear. "So, Mrs. Grey, it's up to you. How do you want to spend your day post breakfast?"

"Well, I think we should definitely do our favorite Sunday morning in bed activity."

"You know, I was hoping you'd say that." I smile and nip at her earlobe, then turn to the kids.

"Come on, kids," I say. "Let's cuddle up and watch Nemo!"


	10. Chapter 10

"Does that look like a penis to you?" I ask Taylor as we stand in my office at GEH.

"I'm not quite sure, sir. I've never seen one with these dimensions before." He leans in and takes a closer look.

"I know the angle is odd, but don't you think it could be?" I point to the object in question. "See, right there, that thing shooting up...and over." We both tilt our heads in the direction of over.

"I don't know how to say this, Mr. Grey, but I don't think it's possible for it to be that lengthy."

"Well, he is my son," I say, pulling the framed ultrasound away from him. I've been going over and over this thing since we got it and I can't tell anything for certain. One minute I'm sure it's girls and then another possibility for penis pops up. It's like one of those optical illusions. Dr. Greene made sure to give me the most frustrating shot possible. Both sets of legs are pretty much closed, except for a slight knee bend and outward kick on one so there's just enough room to possibly see something, but definitely not. I think she did it just to fuck with me.

"They are good looking children, Mr. Grey!" Taylor says.

"Yes, they are beautiful," I say, smiling at the picture with pride.

"The new imaging they have is remarkable, sir. It looks like that one's waving."

"No, that's the penis!"

Andrea buzzes and I put the photo back onto the desk. All four of my children and Ana covering my workspace. I remember the first thing I ever put on my desk— other than a pen holder—was the glider, and now it's surrounded by a life built on the faith of its wings.

"What is it?" I answer the buzz.

"Welch on line one, Mr. Grey," Andrea says.

I switch over.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to return my call before the twins graduated high school."

"Listen, Grey. It's a no-go on the sneak peek of the Doc Greene records. I couldn't get anywhere. That office is tight. They were obviously prepared for your shenanigans."

"You're my investigator. You're not supposed to let them see my shenanigans coming."

"Listen, I can't hide the sun with my ass," he says. I'm not so sure about that.

"So, what exactly are you telling me?"

"Enjoy the party."

"Well, why don't you just enjoy the rest of your life!"

"Okay, I will."

I'm not sure what I just threatened, exactly. I felt like it should've been bigger than happily ever after.

"Did you get the other items I asked for?"

"Grey, for the last time, four-year-old boys don't have sex offender records."

"Well, you better find all the information you can—number of playground marriages, ring-around-the-rosies antics, playing entirely too well with others—because I don't want their first criminal mark to be against my daughter!"

Andrea buzzes again.

"Mr. Grey, your sister-in-law is on line two."

Fuck. Kate. She's probably calling to gloat.

"Hold on, I'm not done with you," I say to Welch and flip over to Kate. "Katherine, why if it isn't the gatekeeper of secrets herself—"

"Stop telling my husband to dig through my drawers!" she says.

"Oh, I don't think I'd ever encourage that," I sarcastically chuckle.

"I saw your texts to him, asking him to swipe the envelope, but I was prepared for your shenanigans." Why is everyone so prepared for them today?

"Dude, you're gonna be outnumbered!" Elliot yells from background, laughing. "Amp up security!"

"What did he say? Does he know? Is it girls?!" I ask.

"No, he's being an ass like his brother who fell from the same tree. Aside from Dr. Greene, the only two people in the world who know what you don't are me and Ana's good friend, Mr. Halifax."

"Who the fuck is Mr. Halifax?!"

She laughs with that Kavanagh brand of snicker and snark, like her shit has flecks of gold.

Andrea buzzes.

"Your daughter is on line three and says it's important, Mr. Grey."

"Hold on Kate!" I yell and switch over. "Hello, Princess," I soften. "What's wrong?"

"Chester has a scratchy head for you."

"What do you mean? He has fleas?" I knew she let him root around those wildflowers too much last weekend during that garden tea we had in the meadow.

"No, he didn't know something, so he scratches at his head to try for it to come out, but you need to itchy it for him, Daddy."

"You mean he has a question I need to answer?"

"Yeah."

I'm amazed I can translate these things with such ease now.

"Okay, what is it baby?" Who the fuck is Mr. Halifax?! Someone at the school? Her work? No, I know everyone on the play-roll and payroll. Why did Kate tell him? He better not fucking be coming to the party!

"Should he wear the blue shiny pants or pink shorts with the flowers?" Phoebe asks.

"Well, it's warm today, so maybe the shorts." I can't get this fucker Halifax off my mind! My knee is tapping so hard it may launch through the roof. Fuck! I just hit it on my desk.

"No, for the party tomorrow. Rules is you gots to wear the colors of the baby kinds you pick and he's a boy, but he thinks it's sisters, but he doesn't want to feel shy in front of the other boys who pick brothers." That rat wore a peacock print smoking jacket, lifts and a gold beret to breakfast, when's he ever shy?

"I think you should tell him to wear the blue shiny pants with a top hat and jacket covered in the brightest pink unicorn poop you can find. He can represent both teams."

"Oh, that would be so much pretty! Love you, Daddy!"

"Love you, too, Princess!"

She hangs up. I immediately switch back to Kate, but she's hung up. Even the dead air on her line is filled with snark. Fuck! Wait, Welch is still there!

"Welch! Thank God you're still with me!"

"I'm paid by the minute, why would I ever leave?"

"I need you to launch an immediate full-out, full-on investigation on some fucker my wife is friends with—a Mr. Halifax."

"Who? The guy who bakes the cakes?"

"You find that fucker— wait a minute, the guy who bakes cakes? How do you know this?"

"Halifax cakes. They're the best. Very exclusive. A lot of celebrity clientele."

"That's it!" I say.

"What's it?" he asks.

That's how we find out!" I look to Taylor. "We go straight to the cake man himself!"

########

"Are you sure this is the place, Taylor?" I whisper to him as we walk into some hole-in-the-wall off the beaten path. Or rather on the so badly beaten path it needs reconstructive surgery. No, that still makes it sound like a hidden gem. It's more like a closet with ovens. And not Ana's closet now; the one she had in that first apartment if it was set on fire, hosed off and set on fire again because the first time didn't make enough of an impression. Is Halifax trying to make the impression that he cooks so many cakes that the wall paper melted off or that he's so bogged down in sugar he doesn't have time for interior design? I can't believe Ana's even been inside this place! Sawyer is going to hear about it. She's not to be in this tenement again. Nothing looks earthquake proof and everything alarms fire hazard. Why, the big one hits and she could be trapped beneath the rubble! With him! It's just not worth the risk for good cake. I think Grace used to tell Elliot that same thing, of course he didn't listen, and look where he ended up.

"Yes, sir. This is it."

"But, Welch said it was exclusive." Unless by exclusive he meant only one person can comfortably walk in at a time. My shoulders rubbing so close to Taylor's in here is already making me squeamish.

"This establishment is highly regarded," Taylor says.

"By whom?"

He points to the far wall that's actually only two feet in front of us. I look over the photos of celebrities who've been here that adorn it.

"Well, now I'm comforted knowing a roadie from Aerosmith was here once in 1997," I say, dismissively looking away. He was the one who probably set the place on fire.

"His Yelp reviews are remarkable, sir." Taylor shows me his phone. Five stars all the way. Fuck, everyone gushes over him like he's the Friar of Flour or something. There's something suspicious about that. It's well known Yelp is a place for assholes seeking an audience to complain.

"One woman says her life was made when she discovered the delicate sweetness of his buttercream," Taylor says, reading.

"Taylor, do I look like I want to fucking know that?"

"I know you like me to give you information, sir."

"Information, yes; not play-by-play anecdotes on another man's frosting." I try to shake off thoughts of the baker's buttercream, but I just keep thinking how Ana has tasted it—probably with her lovely smile as he gave her a spoonful... "Where is this fucker?" I mutter, clenching my jaw and fisting my hands at my sides.

I look over to the counter, which is three paces to our right, and no one is there. We have to shuffle to get past some large 3-D cardboard wedding cake being cut by some bride and groom who look at each other like they just met yesterday. Halifax has propped this monstrosity in front of the counter, which is practically the middle of the fucking room. Why would he bother with that? No one can see a walk down the aisle smashed against their groin.

"Perhaps we should call him, sir," Taylor says, pointing to one of those old diner bells next to the register that's accompanied by a little sign that says "ring for service" with an arrow pointing to it. Why do I feel like Alice about to fall down the hole into that sketchy cat's drug den?

"Maybe this is all a front for a narcotics ring or something," I say. "You know, white flour in the front door, white powder out the back."

"Don Knotts was here," Taylor says, almost horrified by my implication as he points to an early 80's black and white 8x10. Oh yeah—Mr. Furley.

"Well, that doesn't mean anything. I don't know what kinds of side show antics he was up to back in his come and knock on our door years."

I roll my eyes and decide to ring the bell. I have no choice. Halifax has my answers.

"How can I help you?" asks a roly-poly little man of seventy-ish as he comes out from the back curtain, wearing an apron smeared with the gluttony of his afternoon. Jesus, he's all sweaty and out of breath. It's like he just stuck his dick a few rounds in an apple pie. His belly proves one thing— baked goods have been his life. Either that or he's five months pregnant with twins, as well.

"We're here to see a man about a cake," I say, ignoring the lemon curd-ish thing about to drop from his peck pocket and onto the counter.

"Well, I'm a man about a cake," he laughs and it jiggles his gut. "Petey Halifax, how do you do?" What man north of seven calls himself Petey?

"Yes, nice. Listen, we want to be brief and discreet about this," I say. "No one can know we're talking to you."

"Oh?"

"We have a situation..."

"Oh?"

"We need some information about a certain type of cake..."

"Oh?" He says _oh_ so much, he may as well flip the letters around, tack on a _w_ at the front and become an owl.

"It's one of those celebration cakes either for _two girls_ or _two boys_ —" I raise a brow and nod upward so he'll catch my drift. Although his mental midgetry might prevent his thoughts from reaching that high.

He looks at me and Taylor for an uncomfortably long moment and then suddenly grins from ear-to-ear, like some lightbulb went off in his head.

"I just had one of those ordered from a sister-in-law yesterday," he says. "She said it was a surprise for the family."

"That's the one!" I say. "That's my sister-in-law!"

"So the cake is for you guys?"

"Yes! We're supposed be surprising everyone at a big party tomorrow, but I'm just going nuts about it."

"I don't know why announcing two fellas has to be seen as such a surprise..."

"Fellas?" I gasp. "Wait a minute. Did you just say— As in—" I gulp. "You mean two boys?"

"Well, yeah."

"Taylor," I turn to him. "Taylor, did you hear—boys!"

"Oh sir, congratulations!"

Taylor embraces me and we're both a little emotional.

"Well, I've sure as heck never seen two people more in love." Halifax says. "Bet you two are looking forward to the honeymoon!"

I stop hugging Taylor immediately—like so immediately I almost rewound time and didn't do it all—and look at the elfin baker.

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"Your sister-in-law Bernice was so excited about the whole thing. Don't worry, Great Grandma will come around. Just make sure she knows that you two could adopt or mix your swimmers in a dish and have a doctor make it happen in a hired girl."

What the fuck? Honeymoon? Great Grandma? Swimmers in a dish happening in a hired girl? Oh. My. God. The thought of Taylor and my sperm swimming together in a Petrie environment just made my dick shrivel within an inch of its life. Does this fucker really think Taylor and I are getting married?

"Wait a minute–who's Bernice?" I ask.

"Isn't that your sister-in-law?" he returns.

"No!"

"But, I thought—"

"We're not getting married!" I say. "We're having twins. I mean, not Taylor and me. My wife and I."

"Your wife?" He eyes me over and then shoots a look behind me, then back and forth again. It's like he's putting two-and-two together and it's equaling three, but it's close enough. "Hey wait a minute..." He takes the glasses from on top of his head and puts them on. "Is that you?" He points to that celeb spectacular wall and Taylor and I turn to see that right above a photo of Pee Wee Herman in his post public masturbation years and right below that jackass local newscaster Lamp Lightly or Litt Lamply or whatever the fuck-head's name is with the so-black-it's-blue rug, is one of my _Forbes Richest List_ pictures. Oh god, it's that 2013 edition where I attempted to smile, but I just look like I passed gas with evil intentions.

"Why the hell am I on your wall?" I ask. How did Taylor and I miss this before?

"So it is you?" he asks, accusatorially.

"Let me rephrase the question—why the hell am I on your wall?"

"Because you love my cakes."

"I didn't even know you existed an hour ago."

"Well, you've sure known my banana cream swirl for years."

"Trust me, I don't want to know anything about your bananas or cream or anything to do with the swirling of them. I just want to know the color of the cake Katherine Grey ordered!"

"I was warned about you and your shenanigans!" Fuck! Again! It's like a press release was sent out on my shenanigans. Of course—Kavanagh. That's how she spends her time at that news rag. "I just didn't know you'd bring a henchmen." He points to Taylor.

"Then, you don't know me at all," I say.

"I've been given strict instructions not to spill the beans on your babies. You're just going to have to be surprised with that sweet little wife of yours tomorrow."

"Hey! Don't you call my wife sweet!" I lunge forward and Taylor holds me back.

"You're crazy!" Baker Man says.

"Oh, I'm crazy? I'm not the one who puts a man he's never met up on his wall like I'm some kind of a Backstreet Boy or something!"

"Why, you—"

"I bet you never even met Pee Wee Herman! You were just a fan of his "work" in the theatre."

"Get out!" he says, with a grimace that indicates the impact of that statement was far too low a blow.

"I'm not leaving until I get an answer, or that picture of me comes down," I say, rolling up my proverbial sleeves and lacing my gloves.

"Sure, that picture can come down," he says, eerily calm all of a sudden.

He comes out from behind the counter, squeezes his belly past us—since there's no room for three men and a food baby—and pulls another framed photo off some side shelf it's propped on.

"But, this picture goes up." He holds the photo up so I can get a good look and my heart nearly stops as I search for air. It's a smiling Ana, holding my 30th birthday party cake. _Happy Birthday Christian_ written in yellow cursive across the top and edged by daffodils. That was a damn good cake. Fucker!

"You give me that!" I say, grabbing for it, but he pulls it away.

"It's my picture."

"That's my wife!" I try to move toward him, but I keep tripping over that damn cardboard cut-out.

"Hey watch it with my promotional materials!"

I kick the thing just to piss him off.

"Sir—" Taylor's trying to stop this from escalating, I can tell.

"No one puts pictures of my wife up!"

"It may be your wife, but that's my cake. And she posed with it right where you're standing."

I gasp. The illicit act took place right under my nose—literally.

"No way in hell you're putting your twisted version of pornography up in your sugar shack!" I grab for it, but he holds it behind his back fat.

"You leave. The photo stays. And now, so does your mug on my wall. Goodbye!" He opens the door.

"That's false advertisement. I could sue you for saying I endorse this place."

"I got checks with the Grey name—from your wife, your sister-in-law, your mama..."

"Oh, so you want to talk about mamas now?" Grace goes here, too? How did I not know that? My whole life feels like a string of baked good lies.

"Sir," Taylor whispers. "Talking about mamas never leads to anything good."

"Fine, why don't we talk to my lawyers?"

"Good idea, sir," Taylor says. "Let's go and talk to them, before you really have to talk them."

"You don't want to fuck with me, Grey," Halifax says. "Trust me. Everyone in this town loves the baker."

"Oh yeah—watch me!" I turn and reach over and rip my photo off the wall, along with Pee Wee's, taking a good portion of the remaining wallpaper with it.

"Now give me the photo of my wife," I say. "Or your Pee Wee photo is toast."

Halifax is seething; his glasses fogging up from the hell-hath-no-fury steam emanating from his eyeballs and out his ears. I think he may charge me, but instead sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles. Damn, he knows how to whistle. Dogs in Oregon are barking right now.

"What seems to be the problem?" a deep graveled voice asks from the beyond. Not beyond the grave, beyond the door, but I can't see him because this place is so fucking small and Halifax's belly is so fucking big.

"Samson, it seems I have an unhappy customer..." Halifax says. "Put a smile on his face again."

Samson? Why do I get the feeling that Delilah didn't get to the haircut?

"I'd be delighted to, sir," Samson says. Shit, does this baker have his own Taylor?

Petey steps out, so Samson can squeeze in, alongside another authority figure of equal size. Authority meaning they're not quite police, but not quite unarmed citizens either. They're sort of like rent-a-cops with benefits.

"Petey says we gotta make you smile again," Samson says as the flank steak to his rib eye stands by, cracking his knuckles. "Now, how do you like to smile—teeth in or teeth out?"

#######

"We could've taken them down!" I say as Taylor opens my car door. "I thought you were a war man! Why'd you play all peacemaker back there?"

"Sir, I assess the risks of battle. And by the looks of that man's fist, the risk you wouldn't have found out the sex of your children until you awoke from the coma was far too great."

"That guy is mobbed up, Taylor." I grimace. "What kind of baker in a broom closet has a team of bouncers at the ready? Now we know how he gets those Yelp reviews!" I bet Don Knotts died not knowing he was up on that wall.

"At least you got your photos, sir," he says and shuts my door to take the driver's side.

"Yeah, for "framing costs" and the price of a new wall! Why would he want a new wall anyway, when he can just match the other ones with a flattened out cardboard box?" I shake my head. "And I still don't know the color of the cake!"

"Sir, it's less than twenty-four hours away. Maybe it'll be fun."

"Oh yeah? How am I supposed to act surprised for a crowd?"

"Well... I think just be surprised, sir, and see where that leads."

"Yeah, but what if it leads to a weird kind of surprised look with the cake cutting and everything. The photographer will be snapping off photos. People will expect something from me. I'm not a demonstrative person."

"Oh I don't know about that, sir. You were quite demonstrative back at the bakery."

"What if I'm over-the-moon excited on the inside, but it only comes across as vaguely bewildered and in twenty years the kids will be at Flynn thinking I wanted another gender and I'm a terrible father, all because I didn't know how to be surprised right?!"

"I'm sure the psychological ramifications won't run too far and wide, sir." He turns a corner, heading for home.

"Yeah, famous last words."

#######

"Ana, I need you in the bedroom, now," I say, walking into her office, taking her hand and attempting to pull her out of her desk chair, but it's taking more effort these days. So, instead of a swift dance, it's a multi-tiered ballet with a lengthy intermission.

"Yes, Sir," she smirks, after I finally have her up.

"Not that," I say. "Well, _that_ after, but I need to talk to you first."

"In the bedroom?"

"I don't want you distracted by work... And I want the other after we talk."

"What is it? You look upset."

I sigh. "I can't lie to you, Ana. I've been to see the baker."

"Oh my God." She gasps. "Wait, what does that mean?"

"Your big friend who's obsessed with you."

"Is this about Jose again?"

"No, worse—Halifax!"

"Obsessed? That little old man, Petey?"

"Don't be confused by that cutesy Petey shit, he's a full blown Peter."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's a criminal. And you're not to endanger your life in that hobo shack again!"

"What? Why were you over there—oh no, you didn't!"

"I did, Ana. But, don't worry. He protected your secret with his life. And nearly had me gunned down by his militia in the process."

"What is going on here?" She looks genuinely bemused.

"I can't take it, Ana. It's driving me crazy that this information is out there and I can't get my hands on it. I want to find out. I just can't live another minute without knowing."

She sighs. "Okay."

"Okay? Okay to what?" She's so calm I fear for the future children living in my testicles.

"Okay, If you want to know you should know. It's not fair of me to hold the information back from you."

"Just like that?"

"They're your babies, too." She brushes my hand with her fingers and kisses my cheek. This definitely isn't how I expected this playing out.

She reaches over and grabs her cell and dials. Who's she calling? Kate will never give me the info, no matter what. And Halifax is probably filing paperwork against me as we speak.

"Dr. Greene, it's Ana." Dr. Greene? "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just calling to say that Christian and I have decided that it's okay if you tell him the sex of the babies." I can hear Dr. Greene yapping on about something in the background, sounding like those never seen adults in the _Peanuts_ cartoons. "I know he's like that..."

"Like what?" I ask.

Ana waves at me to hush. "Yes, I'm sure. No, I don't want to know yet, but please tell him. I'm certain. Okay. Here he is." She hands me the phone.

"But, Ana," I say.

"It's okay. Go ahead." She smiles.

My Ana.

I put the phone up to my ear. I don't say anything for a moment. I'm speechless. I just look at the face of my angel.

"Mr. Grey, I can hear you breathing," Dr. Greene says. "I don't have all day." She'll have all day once I put a cork in it and the champagne fund dries up.

"Dr. Greene," I say.

"Well, let's get on with it," she says. "You're having—"

"Wait!" I say, my eyes locked on Ana.

"Mr. Grey—" Dr. Greene says.

"No, I don't want to know," I say and hang up.

"Christian," Ana says, watching me like the circus came to town and left behind a grinder monkey. "Why did you hang up on her?"

"Because I don't want to find out like this. I want to find out with you—together— and I want it to be special."

"But, you said you couldn't live another minute not knowing."

"That's when I felt I didn't have any control over the minutes or the knowing... Now that I do, I want to wait. I want it with you—tomorrow."

"Remember when I used to say you were mercurial?"

"Yes."

"That was an understatement."

"Oh, Ana..." I take her in my arms and hold her as close to me as possible. "I love you. And I'm excited for tomorrow."

"I can tell," she says as her fingertips brush my erection.

"Oh no," I pull back and look at her. "That doesn't wait until tomorrow."

"Really, Mr. Grey? Are you taking me to our bedroom like you promised?"

"No baby. I think I'm going to fuck you right here." I sit her on the edge of her desk and brush the papers away.

 ** _Reveal Party Next... xox_**


	11. The Big Reveal

**_I need your help! I wrote alternate endings to the gender reveal party. Please comment and let me know which ending you like best. Thanks! And as always, you guys are the best! xox_**

The cake is taunting me. A tower of four gigantic frosted baby blocks stacked on top of each other—two pink, two blue, and each with a question mark at their center—sits on a table in the garden that's got so many pink and blue balloons tied to it, I'm surprised it doesn't take flight. Though, the cake probably weighs it down. How do those blocks stay upright stacked like that? I'm almost afraid to cut into it for fear of toppling Rome. I observe the team getting things ready for the party through the blinds at the window in my study. I'm not supposed to be peeking, but I can't resist. It's bad enough not knowing the color of that cake, but to not be in charge of the party is literally hell.

Kavanagh is running around snarking out orders at some poor saps carrying chairs and table linens—pink and blue, of course. She really thought out of the box on the color scheme. I can't hear anything in particular, just the annoying buzz emanating from her mouth and the terror on the men's faces. It's like that of a bee, only when it stings you it doesn't die. It turns into a zombie and eats at your brain forever.

"Daddy, Daddy!" the kids say as they rush in, stealing me away from my stare through the slats. They never knock. But, they know they don't have to. My one rule for when I work at home is that my office door is never locked.

"Well, don't you two look adorable," I say as they run to me.

"I don't think so, I'm wearing pink short pants!" Teddy says in outrage, pointing to his pants that his baby blue button up shirt is untucking from. "Why do I gotta wear pink?"

"Because pink is the bestest color that the Rainbow Man ever 'vented!" Phoebe says and gives him a look like she's gonna clock him if he says different.

"Is that like a leprechaun?" I ask.

"No, he's the one the biggest most importantest fairy touched on the nose with her twinkle stick and said 'you must make the colors of everything and put the smile on the sun.'" She mimics a CEO Fairy well.

"Well she chose the right man for the job," I say. "And today, while everyone else wears blue or pink for their guesses, you two are wearing both colors so the babies will see their big brother and big sister are happy either way." I work to re-tuck Teddy's shirt into his pants and straighten him up. He's got some food on his sleeve. I have to pull a handkerchief out from my pocket and wipe him down. I swear, this child goes from zero to dirty in less than sixty seconds.

"But, what if I want turtles?" Teddy asks. "Can't I wear green pants over the pink for turtles?"

"For the last time, there's no chance of your mother having turtles." I ruffle his hair and give him a kiss on the head.

"Isn't my dress pretty, Daddy?" Phoebe asks and twirls. She's wearing a pink gingham sundress with a powder blue sweater, and the pink diamond tiara I gave her adorns her head.

My princess.

"Yes, but not as pretty as the girl wearing it!" I say and she giggles just like Ana. She's such the little lady now. And just yesterday she was the baby girl they placed in my arms. I was so afraid because I knew nothing about little girls. She taught me everything.

"I wore the blue sweater, so when we find out it's my sisters I could take it off and be all pink again," she says.

"And if it's brothers?" I ask.

"I never thought like that." Oh Lord, I hope it's girls for her sake.

Phoebe runs to my chair and sits, pushes off from the desk and starts swiveling around like it's a ride at an amusement park.

"Daddy, how does the cake tell us what the babies are? Is it like a genie?" Phoebe asks, still spinning. How does she not get dizzy?

"Yeah, why does the cake know before us?" Teddy asks.

Good question.

"The fairy godmother kept it a secret and baked the right color into it so we could have a party."

"Really?" Phoebe stops spinning, eyes wide and full of wonder. I nod. "I didn't know she could cook so good."

"Phoebe, where's Chester?" I ask.

She opens her little basket purse she set on the desk and the furball pops out—a cracker in hand and crumbs on mouth— all decked out in his blinding pink glitter top hat and coat tails with the blue satin pants. He looks like what would happen if Uncle Sam had a drunken one night stand with Valentine's Day and they bore a Broadway show.

"I see he took my advice on the outfit," I say, as Chester stands on his hind legs and spits a few hamster obscenities laced with cracker a la Ritz my way.

"Yeah, but he choosed his shoes by himself."

I look down at his back feet. "Gold high top sneakers, lovely selection." I think they have lifts. That rodent is always trying to be taller.

"Kids, Grandma Carla and Grandma Grace want to see your outfits," Ana says, entering the room.

"My parents are here already?" I ask.

"Yeah, your mom said she wanted to spend some quality time with my mom before the party started. They're in the family room." Oh Lord, hide the tequila.

"Yay!" the kids holler as Phoebe grabs Chester-in-the-basket and they run out of the room.

"Don't run! You'll slip on the marble and crack multiple somethings!" I yell. I say it every time, but they just keep on running.

I take a good look at Ana. She's a goddess. The tight white capri pants that cup her ass just right—like a peach that's all juicy nectar— are tightening my own. Her hair is flowing like a goddess over her shoulders and I can smell the meadow flower shampoo I like so much. And her breasts. Lord, her mama melon breasts! Sweet, sweet honeydews in that v-neck shirt that clings to them and pops her cleavage forward, invitingly, and my cock is moving to RSVP _yes, ma'am_ for the celebration.

"I don't know if I can go to the party. I may have have to go to the hospital," I say.

"Why, what's wrong?" Ana asks.

"You're killing me in that outfit, Mrs. Grey." I move to my wife and she leans up to give me a sweet kiss.

"I'm just wearing a t-shirt."

"Yes, and I'm going to need to peel you out of this later," I say as I trace the _v_ of her cleavage with a finger and then brush it against her nipple.

"You'll have to tie me up before I'll let you." She bites that delicious lip.

Damn.

"Tell you what..." I wrap my arms around her and pull her as close to me as her belly will allow. "I'll promise to do that at Escala tonight, if you let me take this off of you now so we can have some quick fun before we get ready."

"I am ready."

"For fun?" I lean in and nibble at her ear.

"For the party. This is my outfit."

"What?" I take a step back and look at her tits—I mean her shirt. Although I'm enjoying the view, her heaving bosom is far too on display for other penises to witness in a garden party situation. I don't care if they're our family. And there's writing across her chest: _Boys or Girls Beneath the Bump?_. What the fuck? Why is the word Girls stretched across her breasts within an inch of its life? All I see are nipples poking through on the far sides of _i_ and the _l_. "No, you're not wearing that shirt!"

"I thought you liked it."

"For me, not the masses."

"It's part of my party outfit."

"But, your breasts, Ana."

"What's wrong with them?" She looks down at her rack. Quite the view.

"It's what's entirely too right with them that's the problem." I suddenly get this terrible vision of her excited after we find out, jumping around and them falling out for the photographer to capture for his secret files.

"Christian, I'm pregnant." She shakes her head. "No one is lusting after me."

"Ha! Want me to make a list?"

"Christian, they're our family!"

"And the photographer!" I say. "I don't care how many holidays he's hitched himself to, he's still a predator.

"Christian, the last time he tried anything was the first time he tried anything—almost eight years ago!"

"Well, he's patient. He's used to waiting around in nature for lizards to pop out so he can fire his flash." She laughs. "Why can't you wear one of your nice Prada dresses buttoned up to the neck with a light scarf?"

"Because we have to wear our party shirts."

"No we don't— wait. What do you mean, we?

"Here. This is for you to wear." Ana hands me a t-shirt she's been holding, but I never realized it because it wasn't in the vicinity of ass or tits or flowing hair.

"I'm not wearing this—" I look at the thing and read: _The Man Behind the Bump: Princes or Princesses?_. Wait, actually that's not so bad. It's like an announcement to the world that I'm the King who knocked up the Queen and got a royal pair. "Okay, if you insist. But, on one condition—I need to ensure you don't have a wardrobe malfunction."

#######

"Ana, why are the shoulders to your shirt safety pinned up?" Kavanagh asks, looking at the job I did to ensure the neckline never gets too low.

"Because it kept slipping," I say. "Why are you wearing yellow?" She really is a killer bee.

"Because I know the truth. I'm neutral."

"I thought that was Elliot," I say.

"Elliot?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you said _neutered_."

"Christian!" Ana says and swats my shoulder. "Come on, Kate, let's grab some food." She hooks her arm and they scamper off like school girls.

Wait. Is my hearing going or did a choir of angels just sing a hallelujah chorus in my ears? Ana wants food! Even if it is with the devil, it's a miracle.

"I think it's going to be girls," my mother proclaims, wearing this frilly pink chiffon blouse and knee length white flouncy skirt. She's nursing the signature "girls drink" for the event—a bubblegum pink cosmopolitan called the _Mama Martini_ — with Carla. Fitting. Carla's wearing a similar ensemble, though a slightly more floozy version. Did they plan this sorority girl act? They look like they're waiting on the gentleman callers to come, but might be passed out drunk in the porch swing by the time they do.

"Sisters, like us," Carla says and they side-hug and smile.

Oh God.

"Sorry Bob couldn't make it," I say to Carla.

"Well, you know he had a big golf thing." Yeah, on the television. He couldn't miss it to fly across the country on a private jet that has a television.

"He's so athletic," Grace says. Yes, his remote control skills are enviable.

"Oh, I get it." Carla says, pointing to my shirt and nearly spitting her drink.

"What?" I ask, looking down to make sure Chester didn't projectile shit on it. Although, I don't think anything's getting out of those blue satin pants.

"You got my girl pregnant!" Carla practically shouts.

"He sure did!" My grandfather hollers in the background. And there's some laughter in the crowd. Geez, what's in these drinks?

"Well, we didn't fly you out here for nothing," I say.

"No, your shirt. The man behind the bump. You're that man! You got behind and bump bump. That's funny."

"Oh Carla. I didn't get it and I was afraid to ask." My mother laughs. She's a doctor for God's sake. And an episcopalian!

"No, that's not what it means," I say. "Ana has a bump, we didn't bump bump. Well, I mean..." Jesus, why am I talking about how I impregnated Ana with our mothers?

"You know, Christian. You just keep getting her pregnant. I may have to spank you for that," Carla says and I immediately leave the conversation. I decide the buffet is a less dangerous option.

"I'm guessing boys," Carrick says, wearing a blue sweater and sipping on the signature boy drink— _The Papa Smurf_. I don't know what's in it, but it's the color of pool water and smells like sun tan lotion that got lost in a hospital.

"I think so, too!" Ray gives him a thumbs up over the crudités. That crudités platter being carrot and celery sticks, and a spooned out bell pepper filled with ranch dressing. Of course Kavanagh would think that was party fare. She used to set it out for all her Friday nights. A quick stick and dip is what she was known for. She certainly doesn't know how to throw a themed party like I do. I'll never forget Teddy's co-ed baby shower and those diapers she made with the melted chocolate bars with the peanuts inside. And we had to change those dolls while being timed. That wasn't a game, that was a nightmare. Maybe Taylor and I could throw Ana a shower this time...

"We're gonna have quite the team!" Ray says. He's gone all out for his outfit. He's wearing a Seattle Mariners jersey with _Grey Boys_ written on the back.

"I don't know why you find out anything ahead of time!" my grandfather says. "That's like asking Santa for a picture of your gifts in August. In my day whatever came out, came out."

Jose's father nods, staring down the cake. He's probably trying to voodoo curse it into being his son's babies. Where did Jose Sr come from, anyway? I didn't even know the photographer was here yet.

"Ana's carrying low. It's boys." My grandmother says.

"That's hogwash old wives' tale hooey," my grandfather says. It's just 'cause it's two and they're heavy, so they sag down. It's girls."

"How do you know that, you old goat?" she asks.

"Because Christian says she craves pickles. All girls crave pickles."

"Yo, bro!" Elliot says as he approaches me. I turn to see him holding a plate full of deli meats. Kavanagh actually served bologna. Probably straight from the plastic container she got on sale at the Quik Time Mart—her favorite store.

"Elliot—" I say. He's wearing a fluorescent pink shirt with flashing lights that says: _Daddy, get your gun!_. "Did Kate buy you that?"

"Yeah, but I think it's girls myself, if only to drive you completely bonkers." He laughs and sticks some bologna in his mouth. Appropriate.

I look around and I expect to see the photographer with Ana and Kavanagh chatting it up, but all I see are Ana and Kavanagh chatting it up. This is odd. Did Ray bring Jose Sr? No, Ray came alone. Jose Sr couldn't have come by himself. He has a half dead leg.

"Taylor," I say as I see him walk by with a plate full of food. It's strange to see Taylor eating and enjoying himself. He's wearing a light pink polo shirt and these pale blue pants. He looks like he's on a cruise. A three day, not a seven day.

"Yes, sir?"

I look down at his plate. "Why is there so much sushi?" He has enough fish on there to feed a nation of cats.

"I don't know. I rather enjoy it, sir."

"Not for you. For Ana!"

"This isn't Mrs. Grey's sushi, sir. I was going to share it with Gail."

"No, I mean why would Kate serve so much of what Ana can't eat?" I swear if Ana so much as accidentally touches that spicy tuna, I'll make Kate's head the fifth block on that cake.

"Do you want me to remove all the seafood from the premises?" He looks like I told him to piss in his combat boots or something. Geez, I didn't know Taylor liked raw fish so much.

"No, I'll make sure she doesn't eat any." I look over at Ana and give her plate the once over. No visible sea creatures. Unless you count Kavanagh flapping those lips like a blowfish.

"Yes, Mr. Grey." He starts to walk away.

"Wait, I didn't ask my question."

He stops and turns back. "I thought that was your question."

"No, that was the second question."

"But, you asked it first, sir."

"That's because I forgot the first one when I was so alarmed by the second one, that I asked the second one first and then remembered the first one to ask second because it was never asked in the first place."

He stands there for a moment, looking like he's trying to translate Morse code.

"Alright, sir."

"Where's the photographer?"

"Were we supposed to hire someone, Mr. Grey?"

"We never hire one! He just keeps coming and snapping—forever!"

"Jose is coming over here with your sister, Mr. Grey." He points and I turn around to see them skipping along through the wildflowers. My sister is laughing at something he said. And he's got this shit eating grin on his face.

Oh fuck.

"Can I eat my fish now, Mr. Grey?" Taylor asks and I nod and shoo him away.

"Where have you been?" I ask, a bit more accusatory than intended, as my sister and the lensed offender approach.

"We went to the barn with the kids to feed Boone," Mia says.

"I love that turkey," the photographer says and he's practically salivating off the teeth of that grin. Why do I get the sneaky feeling he's not talking about my children's bird?

"But, you didn't say hello to me first, Jose," I say, gritting my teeth. "You always do."

He looks all sheepish all of a sudden. Or rather the wolf in sheep's clothing playing the part.

"Aw man, I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd be upset."

"I'm not upset." I glare. "Just curious..."

"I wanted to say hi, I just got distracted." He looks at Mia and they laugh.

"I'll bet."

"It's boys, I know it!" Mia says, suddenly throwing her arms around my neck. Is she trying to throw me off the scent of whatever the fuck happened in the turkey's bachelor pad or is she that excited about her guess and her cerulean sweater dress?

"I think so, too," the photographer says.

"Yay! We can be Team Blue together," Mia says, hopping a little too much for my liking or the knit of that dress to handle.

"Yeah, cool," Jose says and gives her a high five. Their hands connect for a moment too long.

Oh my God. They're a team birthed by my babies. I have to put a stop to this blatant sexualizing of my sister. First, it's coming together as Team Blue, then it's coming together in the sack.

"But, you're wearing pink," I say, eyeing his shirt. I know his game— he just changed his vote to be a team player.

"No, that's white. I just washed some socks with it," he says.

"You have red socks?" I ask. I've got the weasel here.

"Yeah, some holiday ones," he shrugs.

"Then, where's your blue?"

"My jeans."

Quick thinking. Oh, this fucker is good.

"Okay, attention please!" Kavanagh yells, scrambling my brain away momentarily from Team Blue. I'm definitely going to make sure it's Team Blue Balls for Jose. "It's almost time for the big moment. Everyone gather around the cake while Ana and Christian take their places."

"This is it, Ava!" Phoebe throws her arms in the air and the cousins run for the front line.

I move to Ana and help her up from her seat so we can walk to our cake.

"Ready, baby?" I whisper and kiss her head.

"Always with you, Mr. Grey."

I smile, and as I hold her hand and we make this journey across the garden to our answer, I realize this isn't a first. The gender party is, but we've made many journeys together now. Firsts are what bonded us, but seconds and thirds and fourths and millionths are what tie us together.

"Speech!" Elliot calls out with a hand cupped around his mouth and Teddy, who's sitting next to him, mimics him. I don't know why I let those two freely hang out. That whole relationship is potty humor, sci-fi flicks and loud mouthing. Of course, that's Elliot's relationship with Kavanagh as well.

"We're happy you all could be here today..." I say with an arm around Ana as we stand by our cake. Well, not everyone. "And we're delighted we could share this special moment with all of you..."

"Cut the cake before my life is over!" my grandfather yells out.

"It'll be over in ten seconds if you don't hush it," my grandmother says.

"Mom! Dad!" Grace says, but she and Carla can't stop giggling. Oh I see they've moved onto the blue drinks.

"Who does the cutting?" I whisper to Ana.

"We do it together," Ana says, picking up the cutter and I wrap my hands around hers, and lean over so we're cheek-to-cheek while doing it.

"On the count of three," Kavanagh says. "One... Two... Three..."

And we slice.

Pulling out the piece we see the cake in all its baby gender revealing glory. It's... It's..

"What color is that?" I whisper to Ana as I look at the thing. "Is that mauve?" What does mauve mean? I'm suddenly reminded of those seventeen pregnancy tests I had Ana take with Phoebe. Every one had a different, slightly confusing answer. We had to take them over the course of a day because she just couldn't pee that much. I'm still seeing faded double lines.

"Christian, I think that's pink!" Ana says.

"That's pink?" I ask.

We both look to Kate and Kate nods, smiling, and if I'm not mistaken a bit teary.

"Pink. It's pink," I say and turn to the crowd. "It's pink!" I throw my hands in the air like I won the lottery or I'm about to go on the roller coaster ride of my life.

It's both.

The audience cheers.

"Yay! Sisters!" Phoebe yells and she and Ava are dancing around like the rain god ended the drought.

"I knew it, man!" Elliot yells out.

"Aw nuts, more women!" Teddy says.

I hold Ana's face with both hands and smother her with kisses.

"Are you happy?" Ana asks, looking up to me with those blue eyes that I hope will be on the faces of our new daughters.

"Oh Mrs. Grey, you have made me the happiest man alive." I kiss her, holding a hand to her belly and all the hooting and hollering disappear and it's just her and me and our babies.

Girls.

 ** _Or... This is the alternate ending..._**

"What color is that?" I whisper to Ana as I look at the thing. "Is that gray?" What does gray mean? Is that a joke on our name? Fucking baker. I'm suddenly reminded of those seventeen pregnancy tests I had Ana take with Phoebe. Every one had a different, slightly confusing answer. We had to do them over the course of a day because she just couldn't pee that much. I'm still seeing faded double lines.

"Christian, I think it's blue," Ana says.

"That's blue?"

We both look to Kate and Kate nods, smiling, and if I'm not mistaken a bit teary.

"Blue. It's blue!" I say, then turn to the crowd. "It's blue!" I throw my hands in the air like I just won the lottery or I'm about to go on the roller coaster ride of my life.

It's both.

The crowd cheers.

"I knew it!" Ray says, holding up his arms and he and my father hug. I think they had too many _Papa Smurfs._

"I told you, you old goat!" my grandmother says to my grandfather. "Some boys like pickles!"

"Yay!" Teddy says and jumps up and down.

"Team Blue!" Jose says and hugs Mia. What the fuck? But, I'm too happy right now to kick his head in.

I take Ana's face with both hands and smother her with kisses.

"Are you happy?" she asks, looking up at me with eyes I hope will be on the faces of our new sons.

"Oh Ana, you have made me the happiest man on earth," I say and I kiss her on the mouth.

"Get a room!" Elliot says.

"They already did," my grandfather yells out.

"The bump bump," Carla says and she and my mother laugh.

Everyone is over the moon happy. Everyone except a little girl in a pink diamond tiara who's taking off her blue sweater as she runs to go inside.

"Just a minute, Ana," I say.

"What's wrong?"

"I just need to check on something." I kiss Ana on her forehead and leave her with the congratulatory party guests to follow after my daughter.

I find her in my office after I see the blue sweater thrown down outside my door.

"Can I come in?" I ask as she sits curled up in my chair—nose to her knees, sniffling.

She nods and looks up at me, teary eyed. Chester is peeking out from her little basket purse that's set on my desk, looking helpless as to what do. One thing is certain, no matter what a shithead he is to me, that little rat really loves my girl.

"I found this in the hall," I say, holding up her sweater.

"I don't want to wear it no more." She sniffles.

"Come here," I say and I pick her up and sit back down in one fell swoop and place her on my lap. "What's wrong, Princess?" I cuddle her into me and stroke her hair.

"It's not gonna be sisters," she says, wiping her nose on my collar and then resting her head against my shoulder again.

"But, brothers can be fun, too." I kiss the top of her head.

"Yeah, but only when you wanna dig for worms and be silly with farts. They don't wanna play things like dollies or have tea parties."

"Who says?"

"Teddy doesn't."

"That's because Teddy is your older brother. His job is to protect you.

"He didn't protect me. I punched Fritzy in the arm when he kicked dirt on Teddy's new pants." This is a new story. I have to hear about this later. That fucking Fritzy.

"Well, yes. But, big brothers are just different. Little brothers will do anything you say."

"They will?"

"Yes, and they need you to be a good big sister and teach them the ropes."

"Like the jump ropes?"

"That and all about unicorn poop and fairytales and Paris fashion."

"You mean I could dress them up?"

"Sure." I shrug. "Look at Chester. He's a boy and he's wearing a pink glitter top hat and jacket." They'll go along with it for a few years, anyway. And then she can hold the pictures over them forever.

"I know all about those things you said they needed to know, too," she says.

"Know about them? Why, you're an expert!" She giggles. "Listen, let me tell you something. Those little guys are going to look up to you like you're the queen."

"Really?" She straightens her tiara.

"Really." I kiss her head. "And let's keep this between you and me for now, but if we work on your mother, you might have a sister before you know it."

"I love you, Daddy," she wraps her arms around me and hugs me tight.

"I love you, too, Princess," I say as I hold her close. "By the way..." I pull back to look at her. "Why did you come in here and not your room?"

"'Cause I wanted to sit in the Daddy chair. It hugs good."

I smile and hug her close again.

"Is everything okay?" Ana asks as she peeks in the doorway.

"Is it?" I ask Phoebe and she nods, then jumps off my lap and runs over to Ana.

"I love you brothers!" She kisses Ana's belly twice.

"You're excited now?" Ana asks.

"Yeah, I was sad for no sisters, but Daddy said I could dress up my brothers in glitter clothes and have tea parties with them and then we would both talk to you hush-hush and I'd have a sister before I ever missed having one."

"He said all that, did he?" Ana asks, and gives me a look.

"Phoebe," I whisper, bringing the shush finger to my lips. "Secret, remember."

"Oh yeah," she whispers back, then turns back to Ana. "Un-hear the last parts, Mommy."

"I didn't hear a thing." Ana shakes her head and laughs. "You know Ava is looking for you, Phoebe.

"Oh yeah! We was gonna look for butterflies." She grabs her sweater and her basket and whisks Chester away.

"Are you wearing that insect repellent spray? You'll be eaten alive by mosquitos!" I call out, but she's so far out the door. I swear, no self preservation. Just like her mother.

Ana just stares at me for a moment, then walks over and sits in my lap.

"What?" I ask and she puts a hand to my cheek, leans down and kisses me.

"And to think there was ever a time you thought you wouldn't be a good father."

"And to think there was a time at all before you," I say and kiss her again.

"Boys, huh?" I say as I rest my forehead against hers.

"Boys." She smiles.

As we sit together, we look out to the yard through the wide parted slats of my blinds. Teddy is chasing Phoebe and Ava. It's hard to believe soon there will be two more running through that yard.

More.

"I remember when I first showed you this meadow, it was quiet and peaceful," I say, stroking her belly.

Phoebe squeals and I think it's because she's seen a butterfly.

"It's not so quiet anymore," Ana says.

"It's not." I close my eyes—her head leaned on mine—and I listen to the music playing, my family talking and laughing, and the happy sounds of the children chasing butterflies.

I open my eyes and look up to my wife.

"Thank you for the noise, Mrs. Grey."

 ** _Vote for which ending you like best! Thanks! I'll announce results. More to come..._**


	12. Father's Day

**_The votes are in and boys won out overwhelmingly. For those of you that wanted one of each, I had already written in previous chapters they were identical and I thought twins of the same sex would be good for storyline purposes down the road, especially for any comedy. Phoebe can remain his princess now, but there is a definite possibility for more sisters in the future as I do love Christian with girls. Thank you for voting and reading all my stories! More to come! The twins will be born soon... Happy Father's Day! xox_**

I CAN HEAR them downstairs. The rustling; the clanking and clanging; the not so hushed whispers warning each other that they'll wake me if they aren't careful. But, they don't know that at just past six in the morning I'm already wide awake and tiptoeing down the staircase to catch them in the act. I know they want to surprise me—and they will—but I just couldn't resist a peek of my wife and kids preparing my father's day breakfast.

"No, Daddy doesn't like so much pickles," I can hear Phoebe say as I reach the door. It's open a crack, so I can see what's going on. Phoebe's sitting on the center island with her legs and monkey slippered feet swinging off the edge—with Chester on her shoulder in matching monkey footie pajamas—pointing a finger at Teddy, who's wrist deep in a jar of dill chips.

"I'm making a sandwich omelet," Teddy says. "Everybody in all of the earth knows you can't make sandwiches right without the pickles." He shakes his head, exasperated as he slaps his handful into his red plastic bowl, adding a shake of the juice for good measure. And as I look at the jar of Vlasics, I'm bemused as to why a stork is their mascot. Do birds eat pickles? Don't storks bring babies? What does a pickle in a jar have to do with making babies, anyway? And suddenly I'm aghast at the overt sexual undertones going on in my very own refrigerator.

Teddy climbs up on his stool, reaches onto the counter and opens a loaf of brand name white bread, pawing around inside the wrapping a bit, until he finds two pieces to his liking. Hey, who the hell bought that white bread? I never let the kids eat that shit. I bet it was Taylor. Always trying to get on their good side with his closeted junk food habit. That junkie. He thinks I don't see the Ho-Hos he hides in the glove compartment of the SUV, but I do. I have Ho-Ho radar.

"Eww, you can't put the breads in lom-lets," Phoebe says as Teddy throws two squished up slices into the bowl. This kid has really inherited all of my culinary skill.

"But, it's not a sandwich without the breads," he says, and makes sure to squish the bread within an inch of its preservative laden shelf life.

"I don't ever eat wet pickle and egg sammys," Phoebe says, scrunching her nose. Chester does, too. Chester looks kind of cute as a little monkey. Although the feet on that thing are as big as his monkey hooded head.

When Teddy reaches for the mustard and ketchup and a bottle of Flamin' Jimmy's hot sauce, I know I'm in for it. I bet Taylor is responsible for Flamin' Jimmy, too.

"Teddy, why don't you just do ham and cheese for the filling and we can set the French toast on each side and that can be the bread," Ana says as she appears from the pantry with some sugar and spices and everything about her looking so nices. She's a goddess with her hair piled on top of her head and her silver satin gown and robe that hugs to her almost twice baked bump and her luscious breasts, while the rest cascades behind her like a waterfall. Debasement and high ideals all in one, is my Ana. And I smile, because I know any other Sunday morning she'd be in her comfy plush terry cloth and my old t-shirts and sweat pants, but she knows I like her in the finest satin or silk, so she's dressed for me today.

"But, I wanna put pickles in it," Teddy pouts.

"Tell you what—how about we put a few on top after we cook it? That way Daddy can see how creative and delicious it is as soon as he looks at it."

"Okay," Teddy says happily after a few seconds of thought, and Ana seamlessly replaces his bowl of the kill Dad concoction with a new clean one. How does she do that? If I was in charge of this breakfast there'd be pickles and eggs stuck to the walls and the ceiling, the kids would be crying or laughing at me, and the fire alarm would currently be going off, even though the stove isn't even on yet. Like I said to her once, long ago now, she really has the measure of us Grey men.

"I get to make the Paris toast!" Phoebe says, throwing her arms in the air, as Ana grabs a few slices from a loaf of brioche and eggs from the fridge, and sets them next to a dish on the center island. Phoebe always calls French toast, Paris toast. It's her favorite city in the world, though she hasn't been there yet. I think it's high time I take her. We'll do it up right. Shopping sprees at Chanel and Dior, the ballet, the finest hot chocolate and French macaroons after a day of sightseeing and play. The first time a girl sees Paris should be with a man who will love her completely and forever. And I smile remembering Ana seeing it for the first time with me on our honeymoon. And though I can't be sure, I've always held the belief that that's where we conceived our Teddy. It was the night I made that date in Paris we dreamed of while hidden away at the Fairmont once a reality. And it was pure magic.

As I watch the children cracking eggs (mostly onto the table and floor) and dipping bread (thankfully Ana stopped them from doing this in said eggs on the table and floor) and whisking this beautiful morning up for me, I get to thinking about the first time I found out I was going to be father. And if there's one day, out of all the days in my life I wish I could change, it's that one.

" _I'm pregnant," Ana said as she sat next to me at the breakfast bar where we ate dinner, and my world, fittingly, shifted from day to night. Life loves a good metaphor. I laugh about that now. I didn't then._

 _I sat there stunned for a moment far longer than a husband should when his wife tells him this news. A husband should be happy, I knew that. A husband should hold his wife and they should laugh about baby names that'll never make the cut and guess whether it'll be a boy or a girl, or the president or an astronaut. A husband should tell his wife he loves her, not sit there staring ahead, leaving the room more pregnant with pause than with new life. I knew all a husband should do, but I wasn't doing anything._

 _"How?" is all I could finally ask. She gave me a look like—how the fuck do you think? "But, your shot?" I whispered, incredulous. I started counting the days and the weeks back in my mind. She got it on a Sunday and what day was this? Was it due last week or next week or when? "Did you forget your shot?"_

 _She looked away and I knew. And then I was angry. Angry at her for forgetting when she promised that she wouldn't; angry at myself for not having a better handle on this situation; angry at life, because once I was finally happy, it threw this curve ball, forcing me be the one thing I knew I could never be—a father. Because what man could truly be a father who never even knew the name of his own?_

 _"I'm sorry," she whispered, after I let a few more moments void of what a husband should be doing pass._

 _"Sorry?" I asked. "Fuck!" And that word was cold and loud and ugly, and it bounced off the marble and echoed in the halls until the whole place was filled with it. And I'll always be forced to remember that that 'Fuck' is the word I used to greet the news of my first son._

 _"I know the timing's not very good," she said._

 _"Not very good?!" I shouted, running my hands through my hair. I can't explain what I was feeling other than saying it was akin to a mighty ship sinking. A tiny iceberg bringing it down. "We've known each other five fucking minutes. I wanted to show you the fucking world and now...Fuck. Diapers and vomit and shit!" I paced and paced, but she stood still. " I thought we'd agreed on this!"_

 _"I know. We had. I'm sorry."_

 _"This is why. This is why I like control," I said as I was losing it. "So shit like this doesn't come along and fuck everything up."_

 _"Christian—"_

 _"You think I'm ready to be a father?" my voice cracked._

 _"I know neither one of us is ready for this," she said and though she was crying, she was so much stronger than me. "But, I think you'll make a wonderful father..."_

 _"How would you know?" I asked, honestly. I wanted her to be able to tell me. "How could you possibly know?"_

 _She didn't have an answer. "We'll figure it out," is all she uttered. But, that wasn't the answer to a problem. That was a wing and prayer, and I never had much luck with either._

 _And then, I did what a husband should never do—I left._

A clang of pots steals me back to my reality—my family. My daughter sprinkling cinnamon into a bowl of egg batter and my son fumbling with pots and pans. And my wife, who knew me better than I ever knew myself, mothering them as she carries my two unborn sons in her belly.

"Shhh, Teddy," Ana says, helping him take his pan and the omelet concoction he's mixed up for me in his bowl to the stove. "I'll cook everything, you stay away from the fire."

"Cook mine, too, for Daddy," Phoebe says as she hops down from the counter carrying two dripping pieces of egg battered bread to Ana. And I remember how the day I found out about Phoebe was so different— I made love to my wife and I popped champagne.

"Sir," I hear Taylor say from around the corner. He always flies out from the darkest places. Perhaps he's really a bat and lives in them. "Is everything alright?"

"Shh," I say, motioning to the kitchen and shooing him back. Why is he all sweaty and bug eyed? He looks like he's been acting out trench warfare fantasies in a pig sty. "What are you doing in your jogging shorts in the house at this time of the morning?" I whisper.

"I was out for a bit of a mud run and saw the lights were on and I wanted to check if everything was okay, Mr. Grey." What the hell is a bit of a mud run and who does that before six am on a Sunday? I feel like I'm the horse whisperer staring at his muddy gams while we talk so hushed. For a man so big up top, he sure is pine needles on the bottom.

"It's fine. I'm just trying to watch my family make me breakfast without them finding out."

"Yes, sir." He rarely questions my oddities anymore, and that's a good thing, as there are many.

I peek back through the door and he annoyingly looks over my shoulder to see the action taking place. I'm sure he's that guy on planes always snooping at your copy of Men's Fitness or Hulk Daily or 'Roids World through the crack from the seat behind. Luckily I don't read those things and I have my own jet, so I can organize his seating arrangements so I can see where his eyeballs are landing.

"You have a lovely family, sir," he says as we watch Phoebe decorate a tray, lovingly, with a mason jar full of flowers and Teddy putting the finishing pickles on the omelet Ana just plated.

"Yes, I do, Taylor," I whisper to him, emotion catching in my throat as my eyes begin to well. There's so much water in my well I could bathe a town and fill a swimming pool. It's funny, after I lost my mother I told myself I wouldn't cry again, and I didn't. Not until Ana left me. And then I cried every night she was gone. I cried when she came back, and then again when I first made love to her, and when she washed the lipstick from my chest. I cried when she knew the worst of me and she still stayed, and when I asked her for her hand. I cried when she said "yes" (both times) and the day I married her I wept. I cried over her hospital bed day and night when I thought I lost her and our little blip. And, when each of our children were born and countless times since. With Ana, I cry a lot. But, I also feel a lot, too. And as I told Phoebe once when she sobbed, mourning over a flower that had been discarded and stepped on and whose petals had all but fallen from the stem, it's the teardrops felt from the heart that make the garden grow again.

"Taylor," I say, my thoughts again stolen back.

"Yes, Mr. Grey?"

"Do you remember that helicopter ride we took after Ana told me she was pregnant?" I whisper.

"Yes, sir. I do." And I can tell he's grinning. I know how his "sirs" sound when he smiles.

" _Mrs. Grey went home sick," Taylor said, hanging up his phone, as we boarded the helicopter to head for home._

 _"What do you mean?" I asked, suddenly panicked. "What's wrong with her?"_

 _"She was nauseated. I'm sure it's normal, sir," he said as he strapped himself in._

 _"Normal? It's not normal to be nauseated! She could have the flu or food poisoning. Has a doctor been alerted to the possibility of an ulcer?"_

 _"She's pregnant, sir," he said as way of explanation and that word was a hot potato dropped right into my naked lap._

 _"Right, of course," I muttered as I fastened my belts and checked the instruments. But, all I was thinking about is—Ana is sick and Ana is pregnant and Ana is alone. I hadn't spoken to Ana all day. She was in her old room when I had come home purposely late last night. But, there was no way I could sleep in my bed—that was now our bed—without her. Ironic how badly this distressed me, as that had been the original arrangement. So, I sat in the chair next to her and watched her as she dreamed. And I imagined that baby, so delicate and small and no bigger than a pinch of cells, growing inside of her. That was our baby—me and the love of my life. And I was its father. And as much as I never wanted to be like my real father—whoever the fuck he was—wasn't this what happened to my mother? Didn't that bastard leave her alone? And wasn't I worse because, unlike me, he probably didn't even know that I existed at all? I wanted to wake her and tell her I loved her and that it would be okay. But, like a coward, I whispered "I'm so sorry, Ana" in the dark._

 _"I had just come back from the Middle East," Taylor said. Oh Christ. I thought he was going to tell me war stories like he often did on our travels and I couldn't deal with his shit, so I reached for my cans. But, he stopped me with a firm hand. "I met a girl at a bar and we weren't careful."_

 _"Okay, Taylor. Enough information." I reached for the cans and he stopped me again. All I could think was—Hey, who the fuck is paying who here?_

 _"To make a long story short," he said, forcefully, making damn sure his gorilla paw wasn't letting my fingers anywhere near the cans. "Six weeks later we had a surprise."_

 _"Taylor, I don't need to hear this—"_

 _"I was terrified," he kept on, enunciating the real terror he felt in that word. I've heard him speak of battle and bloodshed with less trauma. Of course, he gets off on those things. "I wasn't ready. I told her I wasn't ready. I even walked down the aisle with her knowing I wasn't ready for any of it." His eyes softened and teared a bit, and I didn't know what that meant then, but since having my children, I know that that's the moment in his mind when he saw his daughter for the first time. "And then Sophie was born and they put her in my arms..." A smile spread across his face. "And you know what happened, Mr. Grey?" He turned and looked me straight in the eyes._

 _"Let me guess, you were suddenly, miraculously ready?" I looked away and rolled my own._

 _"No, I still wasn't ready. I'm not ready to this day," he said, and something about his tone made me turn back to look at him. "Everyday with my daughter there's something new not to be ready for, sir. The not being ready never ends."_

 _"So, what's your point?" I asked._

 _"When they ask you to go into battle, they don't give a fuck if you're ready, Mr. Grey. All they care about is that you're there. And if you don't man up, strap up your boots and get your gun loaded, you're going home in a body bag, sir."_

 _"Look Taylor, I know you think somehow your story is the same as mine, but it's not."_

 _"You're right, Mr. Grey. It's not." He gives me a pointed look. Who was this guy and what did he do with my agreeable man servant?"_

 _"Okay, you're right. I know your marriage didn't work and I love my wife. I want to be married to her. But, I'm not cut out to be a father, you of all people know that. Taylor, you know who I really am."_

 _"Yes, I do, Mr. Grey." He was serious. "Of all people, I do know the real you. And in all the years I've worked for you, I've never questioned your lifestyle or your judgement or anything you've asked of me, so I hope you can forgive me—or possibly thank me one day— for what I'm about to say to you now..." He took a deep breath, like he was cocking his mental gun to blow off my head. "Get your shit together and go back to your wife before you lose the best damn thing that ever happened to you, sir."_

I look over to Taylor today, who's still grinning like a loon as he watches the scene in the kitchen.

"Thank you, Taylor," I say.

"For what, sir?"

"For believing that one day I really would thank you."

"Yes, sir." He smiles and looks a little weepy himself.

"Don't get all emotional on me," I say. "It's a one time deal."

"Of course, sir."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go back to bed and pretend to be asleep so I can celebrate Father's Day."

#######

"Why do you get to carry the Daddy tray?" I can hear Phoebe whisper in the hall as I'm tucked back in, looking snug as a bug, in the bed.

"Because, I'm a man," Teddy says. "I got bigger must-les."

"Nuh uh, I could climb all of the jungle gyms so much betterer than you and beat up all your friends." That's my Phoebe. I will always encourage this attitude of beating up the boys.

"Shh, kids," Ana whispers. "Phoebe, your job is to wake Daddy. Teddy gets to carry the tray."

"What's Chester's job?" Phoebe asks.

"To give him lots of kisses." Kisses? Since when do kisses draw blood?

I can hear Phoebe's footsteps start to quicken. She's running down the hall. Uh oh. Phoebe waking me is never a peaceful event, and I don't expect it to be any easier after a full out sprint. I shut my eyes tight and prepare for the blows.

"Daddy, Daddy," Phoebe says and the next thing I feel is a knee to my gut and my guy. "You gotta open your eyes!" She takes her two fingers and manually parts my right lids. "Happy Father's Day!" Suddenly this has turned into _A Clockwork Orange._

With Tony worthy theatrics I yawn and stretch and peel the other eye open to join its counterpart. Though, Phoebe's knee hits my stomach again and my phony yawn turns into a real gasp for air.

Teddy walks into the room carrying the tray. With each step he takes the contents slide back and forth across the wood. I fear breakfast apocalypse, but miraculously it's avoided.

"Kids, what are you doing?" I ask as Phoebe pulls the pillows out from behind my head and props them up against the headboard.

"I'm making you a seat so you could eat better of your food, because it might not make it to your tummy if you was laying down."

"That's very thoughtful. I wouldn't want my breakfast stuck in my throat all day."

"Yeah, I know." The way she's propped these pillows is similar to a coach airplane seat when they tell you to put the backs up fast.

"This is for you," Teddy says as he sets the tray onto my lap. There's the omelet and the French toast and a stack of pancakes with #1 Dad written across the top in blue frosting, though the script has been smeared by Teddy's pajama sleeve, so it could be misread as #7. Ana's propped two croissants into a white basket with a blue checkered towel, along with my favorite apricot jam, and it looks just like basket we shared in Paris the morning after our magical date. She thinks this was the night of our miracle, too.

"Happy Father's Day!" the kids say somewhat in unison, though Phoebe finishes with, "To the bestest Daddy ever, even of the all the pony daddies and pegasuses wizard daddies and cutest piglets, too."

"Well, that's stiff competition. Thank you, Princess." I put my arm around her and pull her close to give her a kiss on her head.

"I love you, Daddy." Phoebe wraps her arms around my neck, hugging so tight to my face that I can barely breathe, but I don't mind. Hell, how does Chester hold onto her shoulder with all this bouncing. Those monkey feet must have good skids.

"Orange juice _and_ chocolate milk?" I ask, once loosened from her loving stronghold, though she remains wrapped around my neck as I look at the glasses. One was poured to overflowing and the other just under halfway. It reminds me of the day they handed out brainpower to me and Elliot.

"We didn't know if you were in a fruity mood or a milk mood," Teddy says.

"Well, I think I'm a bit of both today." As I look over the tray, I'm amazed with all the care and time they've put into it. I never expected any of this, but here it is—and it's beautiful.

"Did you really make all this for me?" I'm a bit choked up as I ask it.

"Yes, we did," Ana says, stroking her belly as she moves from the doorway into the room and I can't help but smile. I watch her for a moment, the sunlight shimmering against the satin of her gown and illuminating her belly. If I had the camera right now I'd take a picture and then paint a portrait that I would hang in a place of prominence amidst all the others of her. But instead, I'll hang the picture of this moment in my memory forever.

"I made you a sandwich omelet," Teddy says. "Because it was breakfast, so I had to cook something you could eat in the morning. And I know you love subs."

Ana laughs and I shake my head. Out of the mouths of babes.

"And look at the pickles!" I say. "I love pickles." I lean in and conspiratorially whisper to him, "Can't have a good sandwich without them."

Teddy smiles proudly. "See Phoebe, I tolded you." She sticks out her tongue in response and Chester backs her up with some ninja-rodent-I'm-wearing-monkey-pajamas looking move.

"I made you the Paris toast," Phoebe says as she plops down beside me, pointing to it. It certainly has a colorful array of toppings. "I put the animal cookies and the jelly beans and pop rocks all over it so it would be a more party breakfast."

"Well, it certainly is. And jelly beans and animal cookies with a sprinkle of pop rocks is very French."

"It is?" she asks, her blue eyes wide with awe.

"You mean you didn't know and you just came up with that all by yourself?" I ask, totally impressed.

She shrugs and smiles. "I guess I just know about Paris things."

"Show him your gifts," Ana says, smiling, and then heavily aided by my assistance, sits with us on the bed. To think there was a time when I never shared my bed with anyone. Now there are six of us (born and not yet born) and a diabolical hamster in it.

Speaking of diabolical hamsters...

"This one's from Chester and Boone!" Phoebe says, pointing to a card that I recognize right away as a Phoebe Grey original. It's got her purple glitter handprint on the cover and a turkey face drawn on her thumb and then off to the side I spot a little yellow pinkie print with big eyes and something red sticking out of his back.

"Is that Chester?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"What on his back?"

"It's a cape, because he and Boone are superheroes really, but nobody knows it when they sneaky dress like busy-ness peoples and have jobs."

"Sort of like me and Uncle Taylor, huh?"

"No, you have to wear glasses to be the real deal superhero." I take it she's been watching Superman. Either that, or talking to Dr. Eisenstat, the optometrist.

"To our brother," I read the card. "Have fun eating! Love, your brothers." Superheroes of little words.

"And they got you tickets for us to go to the Mariners game," Teddy says, pulling them out of the envelope.

"Big spenders!" I look to Ana and she giggles as she tucks her head onto my shoulder and snuggles into me.

"And I picked you the flowers from the garden we made," Phoebe says.

"I love them and you." I kiss her on the head.

"And I got you a bear, because it looked like you... and it was a bear," Teddy says, holding up a Teddy Bear in a three piece suit and Windsor knotted silver tie.

"He'll come with me to work. Andrea will never be able to tell us apart."

Phoebe giggles like that's the funniest thing she's ever heard and I tickle her into giggle oblivion.

"Teddy, hand him the wrapped package that's under the basket," Ana says and he pulls out a small box with a card that reads: _To the Best Father Ever_. I touch the words, needing to feel the press the pen left to prove that they're really there.

"This is best gift I could ever get," I say as my fingers continue to hold to the words.

"You haven't opened anything yet," Ana says and brushes my cheek with her fingertips.

"All I ever need is this." I take her hand and kiss it.

"Open it, Daddy," the kids say, excitedly, so I rush to remove the paper and find a framed poem of sorts, the unrhymed verses written by Ana's hand.

"I wrote it out for them," Ana says. "But, they told me what to say. From their hearts."

I look back down at the frame. The words look so beautiful scripted gold pen.

"My father is..." I read aloud and those words alone cause my breath to catch. "My father is kind because he helps me save bugs out of spiderwebs. And he plants with me new flowers, and he never cares that his knees get dirty or the sun is hot. And he wears the purple crown I made him all day for his birthday last year and didn't get shy around the other daddies at all."

I smile at Phoebe. "Of course I don't get shy. Those other dads wish they had my crown." She giggles.

"My father is funny," I continue to read. "He makes me laugh so much when he tells Mommy she drives faster than her guardian angel can fly, or that we'll catch our death of cold without our sweaters, or that if we eat too much candy we'll get rotted up from the rooter to the tooter."

I look up. "None of that is funny, you know." Of course they all laugh. "Well, maybe the rooter and tooter part." The kids are in hysterics.

"My father is good," I read. "Because he takes care of me when I'm sick and makes sure my toes are covered warm and he watches girl movies with me, even though he's a boy." I smile. "My father is patient because even if I don't know math or spelling he never makes me feel dumb, he just keeps helping me until I get it."

I look up at Teddy and smile.

"My father gives best hugs, makes sure our security peoples are watching over us good and always turns off his phone when he comes home." I sniff. "Everyone's got a father. But, we are extra special lucky we got the world's best dad."

"I love this," I say, holding it to my heart. That's where it will stay forever. "This is the best gift you could've given me." I touch the frame, reading the last three words again and again—world's best dad.

"Do you know how much you mean to me?" I pull my children closer, hugging them tight. Even Chester, though I think he's trying to get away or back up to find leverage for the attack.

"And you mean the world to us," Ana says and all I can do is kiss her. That's all I ever want to do anyway.

"Eww, gross," Teddy says. "Why do you always kiss so much?"

"Because that's how the babies get into the carriages after the marriages and the tree kissing."

"You're right, Phoebe," I say and kiss Ana again. "And don't you kiss anyone or sit in any trees until you're thirty." Phoebe giggles.

Ana gasps suddenly and grabs her belly.

"What's wrong?" I ask and I'm ready to spring into action. "You're not in labor are you?"

She shakes her head. "No, the babies are moving. Here, everyone feel."

We all put our hands on her stomach.

"Oh Ana," I say as they kick and squirm inside of her.

"They want to say Happy Daddy's Day, too," Phoebe says and I smile as Phoebe leans over and kisses her mother's moving belly—twice.

I get to thinking about what Ana said to me that next morning after that terrible night. She was so mad and I hated myself. I was a disheveled, hungover mess who had abandoned his wife and child. I was the worst of my mother and my father.

" _Do you remember last night when you came home? Remember what you said?" she asked._

 _I stared at her, at a loss. I didn't remember anything. Though, I imagined whatever it was wasn't going to win me husband or father of the year._

 _"Well, you were right. I do choose this defenseless baby over you. That's what any loving parent does. That's what your mother should have done for you..."_

She was so right. And though I was still scared and angry, something switched in me that I didn't fully realize then, but have processed over time. She isn't my mother. And she would never let me fuck up. And even if I did, my son would be okay because she was his mother. And he wouldn't turn out like me. Ever. And no matter how good of a father I am, I'm only one because first she was a mother.

"Oh no, we forgot the maple syrup," Ana says, and this breaks me out of my recall.

"I'll get it," Teddy says and jumps up. He's getting so big now. Our first little blip...

"No! Me, too!" Phoebe says and follows him out the door and down the hall. They're fighting for first place every step of the way.

"Don't run! You'll break your necks!" I yell out, but they run. They always keep running. Like they keep growing and learning and teaching me and putting gray hairs on my head. Taylor was right, everyday there's something new not to be ready for. And I used to think only the bad things could really catch you by surprise, but I've since learned, over and over again, the really good things can knock your socks off.

"Happy Father's Day," Ana says, brushing my hair as my cheek rests against her belly. "You're a wonderful father, you know that?"

"Thank you for making me one," I say and I find that I'm tearing up again.

"I didn't; you do that all by yourself. Everyday."

And I held to her that beautiful morning as I ate breakfast in bed with her and our kids, doing exactly what a husband and father should do.

 ** _In 2019 (the year this takes place) Christian's Birthday comes after Father's Day. It's next..._**


	13. Happy Birthday, Mr Grey: Part 1

**_I'm trying to get a lot of context out to you this weekend. Keep an eye out for updates. Hope you enjoy! xox_**

"8.25 flawless carats," Donald, my jeweler at Cartier, says as he hands me the ring I've had intricately and painstakingly designed for Ana. The clarity and brilliance are astounding. And the platinum and diamond basket setting are breathtaking. Eight carats for eight glorious years of " _yes_ " and a little bit more.

"It's perfect," I say as I take it from his hand, hold it up to the light and examine it. "Now, you've made it a size-and-a-half larger, right?" Ana's fingers have swelled considerably during this last trimester of pregnancy. She's had to take off her wedding rings and wear them around her neck on a chain, which drives me absolutely insane. Any man can use her naked finger as an excuse to sexualize her. She says being eight months along with twins is some sort of a deterrent. Ha! It's like peach pie to the ants at the picnic. What's she going to do when they strike—shake her chain? Though, none of that is the reason I'm buying her the ring. Having a stone that could signal ships and blind dicks is just icing on the cake. I wanted to do this for her. Ana deserves diamonds, always. And tonight is special.

"Yes, just like you asked," he says. "We can re-size it later."

"Good, it'll be perfect for tonight."

"Are you giving Mrs. Grey her push present already?" He's such a nosey little bastard. Although every time Ana gets pregnant, he gets a new Ferrari. Coincidence, I think not. Perhaps he and Dr. Greene are in cahoots.

"This isn't her push present. She's not due until next month. I'll be back for that." The dollar signs immediately flash in his eyes.

"But, your anniversary isn't until the end of July." Of course he remembers my wedding day off the top of his money soaked head.

"This isn't an anniversary gift either," I say. "It's in celebration of the other most romantic, monumentally important day of our lives."

"What's that?" he asks.

"My birthday," I smile.

#######

"Christian, what have you got planned out in the boathouse tonight?" Grace asks as I talk to her on the phone in my study. I peek out the door to make sure Ana is nowhere in earshot. The coast is clear. She and the kids have been working on something in the kitchen that I suspect is for me. I have to laugh, she thinks we're celebrating my birthday with a simple dinner at my parents and then coming straight home. But, I've got a surprise up my sleeve—or rather in a red box in my pocket—that's going to knock her Manolos off.

"Just let the men I've hired do their work, Mom," I whisper, closing the door and heading back to my desk. "It's just a little surprise for Ana."

"For _your_ birthday?"

"As you are well aware, my birthday isn't just my birthday. In fact, eight years ago today my birth slipped to a distant second place in celebratory importance."

"Oh Christian, I remember so well." She starts to sniffle.

"Mom, don't cry. Please."

"I can't help it. I'm so happy." She sobs. I hope there's a tissue nearby.

"It's been eight years."

"The feeling lasts."

I smile. "Tell me about it."

"Can I take a peek out there?" she asks.

"Just a small one. But, don't tell Mia, for heaven's sake." Hell, she'll call Kate and Kate will blab all over creation and the next thing you know the photographer will have his lens so far up in my boathouse he can smell the flowers.

"Okay. I'm running out there now. Happy Birthday, son. And get ready for dinner tonight, because I've made your favorite!"

"The buttermilk fried chicken?"

"No, pork tenderloin." She sounds disappointed. When have I ever been crazy about pork tenderloin?

"My other tied-for-first favorite. Thanks Mom."

"I love you so much. I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you, Mom." I clear my throat. I got a little emotional there and I don't want to let down my big bad wolf guard. Although, I think eight years ago that girl who said _yes_ to me blew that house down. "I love you, too."

The second she hangs up, there's a knock at the door.

"Come in," I call out and Taylor enters.

"Sir, you messaged for me?" he asks, approaching my desk and I stand.

"Yes, it's about tonight."

"What time will you and the family be leaving, sir?"

"Six o'clock. But, that's not why I called you in here."

"Yes, sir?" He looks at me so expectantly, he almost looks more expectant than Ana. Almost. Eight months along with twins is a level of expectant even Taylor can't master.

"Ana and I wanted to ask you something."

"If it's about the oil residue left from my mustang in my garage, that's been fixed, sir. Faulty valve."

"What? No." Does he really think I monitor the floor of his garage or anything shooting out of his valve that closely? "We wanted to invite you and Gail to my dinner tonight."

"Do you need us to watch the children, sir?"

"No."

"Does your mother need help with the cooking and heavy lifting?"

"No."

"Is there a security risk I wasn't aware of, Mr. Grey?"

"No. Nothing like that. It's just an invitation to my birthday dinner, that's all."

He looks at me like he's either contemplating the depth of this moment or something extra slipped out with a silent-but-deadly.

"You really want me to be there, sir?" He's all choked up sounding. Jesus, it's like I offered him the final rose.

"Yes, of course. You two are family. And well, you're sort of like the friend I never had."

"Oh, sir." Now he's a bit teary. It's like watching King Kong fall off the Empire State Building to see Taylor get emotional. Well, he's got the hands for the role, anyway. "Yes, of course we'll be there."

"Good. There will be pork."

"Lovely," he beams. If there are two things Taylor loves, they're war and pork. "And I have something for you, sir." All of a sudden he's got this shit eating grin on his face. Something's always afoot when Taylor looks like he just ate shit.

"For me?"

"For your birthday, Mr. Grey."

"You didn't have to get me anything." Now this is getting weird. First he's coming to my birthday party, then he's giving me a gift. What's next—jagged heart halves on chains around our necks? Oh God, I hope that's not what this is.

"Here," he says as he pulls a small box out of his jacket pocket. "It's just a small something I thought you might want to have."

I open the package and inside is a single, solitary penny.

"You shouldn't have spent so much, Taylor," I tease.

"No, that penny isn't just a penny, sir," he says, pointing at the penny. "That penny is the penny I found on Mrs. Grey's porch the day I dropped her off."

"Dropped her off where?" Why is Taylor taking Ana anywhere without my knowledge and dropping her off, then picking up coins? That penny better not have been on the floor under her skirt!

"Sorry, sir. I should say the day I dropped Miss Steele off."

And like a bolt of lightning shot right through my chest, suddenly I know what he's talking about. The day she left me and he drove her home. The day she cried into his handkerchief. The worst day of my entire life.

"It was a miserable day, raining and everything," he says. "She was crying into my handkerchief as she shut the door."

"I remember all of that," I grimace.

"And I knew her coming into your life couldn't be all for naught, Mr. Grey. She was sunshine to your black miserable cloudy day."

"I didn't know you thought so highly of me, Taylor."

"Well, when I looked down that morning, after she closed her door, I saw it and then I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That you were a lucky s.o.b., sir."

"That I am, Taylor." We both laugh. Well, as much as Taylor ever laughs. It's more of a half smile that could me mistaken by others for indigestion, but I know it's affection.

"Why did you wait so long to give it to me?" I ask.

"With all that was going on at the time, I forgot about it. I had put it with my dog tags and I found it recently when I was trying on my fatigues for Gail—"

"Okay, I don't need to hear about all that—" I say, holding up a hand to hush any talk of dress-up with Gail. "But, thank you, Taylor."

"Happy Birthday, sir." He smiles and heads for the door. "And I'm looking forward to the pork later, Mr. Grey."

"I know." I laugh to myself and shake my head.

After he leaves, I sit in my chair and look at my penny for a moment. To the casual observer there's nothing remarkable about it; it's not shiny or weighted and its monetary value small. But, the man sitting in this chair, after all the billions he's made, would trade it all for this one single cent.

#######

"Daddy, close your eyes," Phoebe says, covering my peepers with her hands as she rides on me piggyback style.

"Yeah Dad, you can't look 'cause it's the hugest surprise of your life," Teddy says as he holds my hand and leads me. Ironic, coming from the mouth of the first hugest surprise of my life. "And if you saw it before it was ready for you, the aliens may have to take you back to their planet."

"I promise you, I can't see a thing." Though I can feel Chester crawling on my neck and inside my shirt collar. Is he wearing high heels with his purple satin ruffled tuxedo birthday party ensemble? Either that or he hasn't had a nail trim for half his life. Maybe he'll spare me a bite on my birthday. Shit, I was wrong.

Suddenly I feel a swoosh of air from an opened door and the scent of chocolate fills my nostrils and takes root in my soul. It's not just any chocolate—it's Ana's. The same frosting she made for me eight years ago and ever since.

"Can he look, Mommy?" Teddy whispers and I can hear Ana whisper back a _yes_ , although Phoebe's arms are wrapped so tightly around my head, I'm surprised my ears even made any of that out.

"Okay, you could look, Daddy," Phoebe yells into my eye as she drops her hands and the first thing I see is Ana holding a cake covered in lit candles that says: _Happy Birthday Dad—dy_. The last part didn't fit, so it's written on the side of the cake.

"Is this for me?" I ask as I help Phoebe slide off my back and into my arms.

"Yeah, 'cause it's your birthday day and it's the special-est day," Phoebe says, and with her arms wrapped around my neck she gives me a big kiss on my cheek.

"Well, I love it." I pull Teddy in tight to my leg and ruffle his hair. "And I love you guys so much." Phoebe tucks her head into my shoulder and Teddy hugs snug to my leg. And Ana is standing there watching us as the candlelight flickers in her eyes and warms the color of her hair. Ana—she's magic.

" _Happy Birthday to you..."_ Ana leads the kids into traditional song as Teddy pulls me to the kitchen table where there's a set-up of balloons and wrapped presents and a stuffed frog in a tie holding a small bouquet of meadow flowers. When Ana sets the cake down in front of me, it reminds me of the first time she gave me that cake, but it's definitely not the same. It's even better.

" _You look like a monkey and you smell like one, too,_ " the kids sing and laugh hysterically at the close of the song.

"You think that's funny do you? To call your father a monkey?" I ask as I tickle them both, sending them into giggle oblivion, then pull them onto my lap. They're getting so big now. They're not my babies anymore, they're real little people.

"Blow out your how many sticks," Phoebe says.

"My how many sticks?" I ask. She's wearing her tiara and her fourth birthday dress that I had made for her by Givenchy for her special princess party. The sleeve is a bit torn and the seams have done their job well, but are near ready for retirement in the closet. The truth is she's already growing out of it and before I know it she'll be five.

"Yeah, how many fingers you is old," she says.

"How many fingers old are you, Dad?" Teddy asks.

"Thirty-six," I say and they look at me like I'm Methuselah's great granddad.

"How did you ever find enough hands for all your fingers?" Phoebe asks.

"Well, I use all of your hands," I say, taking her hand and kissing her palm. "When I didn't have enough of my own, I used your mother's, and you two, and the babies, too. All of your fingers helped me to get to my birthday today."

I look over at Ana, who's smiling and there's a tear in her eye. If you would've asked that twenty-seven-year-old kid the day before he met her where he'd be at this age, it surely wouldn't be here.

"Well, you could keep one of my hands," Phoebe says. "But, I need the other or I'll never have the fingers to turn five."

"It's only a loan," I say and pretend to nibble her fingers and she giggles. If only holding onto her hand would keep her my baby girl forever.

"Happy Birthday, Mr. Grey," Ana says and gives me a kiss on the head.

"It is the happiest," I say, and lean over to kiss her belly.

"You gotta make your wishes, Daddy!" Phoebe says.

"Oh yeah?" I ask. "What should I wish for, guys?"

"You have to wish from your heart," Phoebe says. "'Cause your heart knows what it loves."

"It's got to be the biggest, most bestest, something you never thought could come true wish," Teddy says.

"Well, then I know exactly what I'll wish for."

I smile and close my eyes tight, listening to my heart as I'm surrounded by the ones it loves most, and wishing for nothing at all. I already have everything I never thought could come true and a whole lot more.

"Mommy said because it's your birthday you could eat cake before dinner at Grandma and Grandpa's," Teddy says.

"Well, it definitely is my birthday, then." I smile and look at the cake in front of me. The frosting is uneven, the writing is a bit of a mess and the layers aren't stacked properly so half of the back is cracked and about to break off—it's perfect.

"We got you presents, too," Phoebe says as she slides off my lap and grabs a long, flat box wrapped in paper with little white mice in party hats and Hawaiian shirts dancing around on it.

"Did Chester pick this wrapping out?" I ask.

She nods. "But, he doesn't want to be their boyfriends. He likes the bigger girls."

"He does?" Are the mice wearing the Hawaiian shirts women? News to me.

"Yeah, like Henrietta," she says. Oh yes, his pig girlfriend. "Or this new chicken he met he wants to marry maybe."

"Where did Chester meet a chicken?" I ask, hoping we don't have a surprise guest in the barn.

"The petting zoo," Ana says and smiles.

"Better not tell Boone," I say.

"Boone doesn't like girls as much," she says. "He likes his freedom and his apartment."

"The girls don't like his apartment?" I ask.

"No, they love it, but no girls like a boy who eats his crackers on the floor."

"Tell me about it; I had to stop all my cracker eating ways when I married your mother." I look up to Ana, who smiles and rolls her eyes.

"I'm gonna eat crackers forever," Teddy says. "I just don't care what nobody says!"

"Give it a few years," I smile as I open Phoebe's gift. There's a picture she's drawn inside. It's me, or at least I think it's me. It's a man's face with brown hair and little reddish-orange zig-zags at the top that look like lightning bolts made out of spaghetti, though I suspect they're supposed to be my copper highlights. The man's got gray eyes and a five o'clock shadow and he's holding a briefcase with papers sticking out of it that say: work, work, work. There's also a bubble coming out of my mouth that reads: Taylor, get on it!. The only thing that makes me question if this really is me is the fact that this man is wearing a shirt and tie on top, but what looks like a Cinderella hoop skirt and glass slippers on the bottom.

"This is beautiful, Phoebe," I say and she smiles. "Is this me wearing a princess dress?"

"Yes," she says. "Because this is you in the top part when you go to working," she points. "And this is you in the bottom part when you come home and play princesses with me." This makes me smile. "And the top part is just covering the Cinderella dress for your working, so they don't know you're really a princess underneath your clothes."

"You have captured me brilliantly," I say and give her a big kiss on her head. "I will frame this and put it in my office." I look over to Ana. "There's a perfect place for it right next to my glider." She smiles and blows me a kiss.

"Mine next," Teddy says and he runs to grab a package wrapped in the funny papers; taped up with some return address labels that Ana must've bought through the PTA because there's no way in hell I would've ever chosen to put our address next to Tweety Bird in seasonal outfits; and twine.

"I wrapped up your present with stuff that we already had so it would be good to the earth, 'cause I know you like saving the world and trees and air and stuff."

"What a wonderful thing you've done," I say and bring him in for a big hug. "That was very thoughtful. I love it."

"You gotta see what's inside," he says, jumping up and down like ants are in his pants.

I open the package, careful not to damage all his work, and I pull out season tickets to the Seahawks for two.

"Mommy bought them, but it was my idea, because I thought once the babies were here we could go to all the games this year just the two of us. So we could have some alone man time."

"I think that is a great idea. I love them so much." I hug him tight. My first baby. "And think of all the junk your mother can't see us eating."

"Yeah!" he says, throwing his arms in the air. Ana just shakes her head.

"Taste your cake, Daddy!" Phoebe grabs for a chunk with her hand, but I pull her back before it lands splat in the frosting, and Ana reaches over to cut me a slice.

It's funny how many years and memories and emotions a slice of birthday cake evokes. Early on you chose your flavor and it tends to stay with you, and every birthday after you taste the birthdays that came before. I can still remember how my birth mother looked that year she made my cake—the first one I can remember. I can still taste the batter from the bowl she gave me to lick and I remember her singing to me. Her celebrating my life was something I'd never known before and never knew again. It only happened once, but it stays with me. And I didn't like birthday cake at all after that day. I guess I didn't want to chance remembering any part of my birth mother well. I hated her and the flavor of chocolate might make me smile at her memory. But now, because of that first birthday with Ana, and the years following with my kids, I can finally taste how sweet it all is.

#######

"Why are you so dressed up?" Ana asks me as I step out of my dressing closet in a charcoal suit and our favorite tie, and into the bedroom where Ana's getting ready in her pink satin robe.

"I thought it would be nice to look festive," I say, hoping that sounded believable. I don't want to let on to my surprise for her.

"And you're wearing your wedding cuff links..." she squints an eye trying to squeeze my secrets out of me as she smoothes lotion over her arms.

"It's because I love them." I move toward her. "And you." I lean over and kiss her lips and she sets the jar of jasmine scented cream down.

"I need to get dressed, Mr. Grey," she says as she places a hand on my chest and backs away, dropping her robe seductively, leaving my eyes to feast on the beauty of her motherly body in harlot red lingerie.

"You look phenomenal," I say, my tongue nearly numb around those syllables as I dropped-jaw gape at her.

"Do you like?" she asks and nibbles on her lower lip.

"Like? I love."

"I picked this out special for your birthday." She slides a manicured finger along the lace trim of her ample cleavage.

"Oh Ana..." I move in behind her, since it's easier these days than moving in front of her, and wrap my arms around her waist, resting my hands on her bump. My arm are practically straight and I still can't reach the front. "This is the perfect birthday gift." I nuzzle her neck.

"Well, you're going to have to wait all through dinner knowing what's under my clothes and what's waiting for you in our bedroom tonight."

Damn.

"This red is perfect." I run my finger along her bra strap. "I thought you could wear the red satin dress I bought you." Lord, her skin and hair smell so good.

"To your parents' house?" she asks.

"Why not?"

"Because it's more like a nightgown."

"True, I don't want anyone looking at these." I brush my fingertips on her nipples. They stand at attention at my attention and so does my dick. "Just wear your velvet jacket over it and you can take it off for me later." I kiss her ear. "It is my birthday after all."

"Okay," she says and turns her head up to look at me. "You're being very strange tonight."

"Nothing different than usual." I smile against her cheek. "Now then, we still have a good twenty minutes..." I move my hands down to her behind and tuck my fingers into the back of her lace underwear. "Maybe you can give me a preview of my birthday present..."

 ** _More to come..._**


	14. Happy Birthday, Mr Grey: Part Two

**_Thank you for your patience and all your reviews! I so appreciate it! xo_**

"Are the violinists here yet?" I ask Taylor as we all make our way up the walk at my parents' house. The kids are skipping ahead and Ana and Gail are chit-chatting about some new meatloaf recipe. Like when is there anything new about meatloaf? Look at the photographer, he's a perfect example. Thank Mary, Joseph and Phoebe's Unicorn Poop Fairy that he won't be here tonight. My birthday is the one celebration his invitation is mysteriously lost to.

"They'll be up and ready at nine o'clock, sir," Taylor says.

"Why so late?"

"It doesn't take too long to set up violins, Mr. Grey. You just put them under your chin and go." One would think he was being sarcastic, but one does not know Taylor.

"Thank you, Taylor, for that philharmonic worthy music lesson." I shake my head. "Just make sure the ice sculpture isn't dripping into the sparkling grape juice fountain. I don't want the flavor watered down. And see to it that the roses don't look depressed."

"How should I go about that, sir?"

"Have them repeat self motivational messages to themselves and pop Xanax." I roll my eyes. He still looks so serious. "How do you think? Make sure they've been hydrated properly. I don't want their edges all withered up like their best day was last week. I want fresh, springtime. Looking ahead to many more years of a bright, happy, rose scented future."

"Yes, sir. I'll give them a spritz before you go."

"Good. There is no room for error. Everything tonight has to be perfect."

"Of course, sir."

"What are you two whispering about?" Ana asks, stopping midway up the path and then taking my arm when we reach her. Hell, I don't remember my parent's walk being so long from the driveway. Maybe I am getting old. No wonder my grandfather always tries to park on the lawn.

"We're just discussing the list of tomorrow's activities," I say as we begin to walk again.

"I thought you gave him the night off," she says as he walks ahead to find Gail.

"This is off for Taylor. He's going to sit down with us to eat pork."

"Taylor, you aren't to listen to him anymore tonight," Ana says. "Enjoy the evening."

"You know what my 'tivities are gonna be on my list tomorrow, Dad?" Teddy asks, grabbing my other hand and hopping over the cracks to save his mother's back, I suppose.

"Homework, eating broccoli and following all your father's rules?"

He shakes his head and laughs. I didn't think so.

"I'm gonna dig for worms and make them a worm zoo in a box with so much dirt the yard may be all gone when you get home."

"Thanks for the warning." We've got over ten acres out there. How much dirt do these worms need? I think I asked that about Welch and his team last week while discussing pay hikes.

"And then I'm gonna play super soaker wars with Fritzy," he says.

"Good idea," I say. "But, do it all at our house. Fritzy's father falls asleep too much when friends come over." I don't want to tell him he gets pass-out-drunk on odd afternoons with bimbos he meets online. Since Fritzy is Teddy's best friend, his father has been under surveillance. Fritzy's mother should be declared a saint. Either that or brain dead.

"Well, well, well, we were afraid you weren't coming to you your own birthday celebration," my father says, greeting us at the wide open door, along with my mother who smothers Ana and the kids with hugs and kisses.

"We were a little delayed, as something unexpectedly came up," I say and look to Ana, who promptly nudges me a good one with her hip. Hell, thinking about that lingerie she's got under that dress, that something's coming up again.

"Don't worry, I knew you'd be here," my mother says, giving me a wink and giggling like she just sucked a balloon. Jesus, why not just run a ticker-tape across your forehead saying Christian has a surprise for Ana with mapped out directions to the boathouse?

"Wouldn't miss pork tenderloin for the world," I say.

"Neither would I," Taylor says, practically salivating all over my Gucci loafers. It's odd to see him so casual and cheery tonight. Hell, I'm in a full suit and he's wearing a light sweater and khaki pants, and practically a smile. Practically. Though, to this day no one's ever seen his teeth. I didn't know he owned anything other than funeral black and camouflage. But, ever since his pastel getup at the gender reveal party, he's been full of casual man surprises.

"We're so glad you could join us," my mother says to Gail and they hug and exchange pleasantries. "Oh and Ana, I'm getting so excited for my new grand-babies to get here."

"One more month," Ana says, stroking her belly and I reach over to do the same.

"My brothers are gonna be called Sky Robin and Rainbow Daisee, but with two _e_ letters on the butt part of daisy, 'cause daisy with a _y_ is for girls because it's a dancing letter," Phoebe says and my mother looks at me like we've just joined the commune. I'm still trying to figure out what exactly "the butt part of daisy" entails, why a _y_ has more rhythm than a double _e_ , and why dancing is just for girls. What would Fred Astaire say to all this?

"No, they're gonna be Rocky and Dave-Tommy," Teddy says and a tongue sticking out contest ensues. How the hell did he come up with Dave-Tommy?

"Okay, kids." I pull them apart. "We haven't made the official decision yet."

"Pee-bee!" Ava yells from the entrance of the main hall and starts running towards us, her blonde mane flying behind her. She's missing a shoe and she's stepping all over her dress to get to where she's going. Just like Kate on those early Sunday morning-afters in college.

"Ava!" Phoebe squeals and just as I get her arms out of the sleeves of her jacket she takes off for her cousin.

"So much has gone on in my life since I last sawed you a majillion years ago!" Phoebe says as they hug each other tightly and jump up and down.

"Actually, that was two days ago," I say.

"That many?" Phoebe asks, shocked.

If Ava's here, you know who won't be far behind...

"I'm on my second martini waiting for you guys," Kavanagh says, as she saunters out from the living room in some black ruffled number that looks like she's dressing for my funeral and hopes to snag a guy while she's crying her crocodile tears over my coffin. Her blue cheese stuffed olive has fallen from the toothpick into the glass and it's created a murky cloud/toxic waste effect. Fitting.

"Just another start to a Tuesday night," I tease and she smirks.

"Christian, you're so dressed up," she says as she gives Ana a hug and slops a splash of vodka onto the floor. Granted, she probably didn't calculate the reach of Ana's belly into her hug equation, but she's still a mess. "And Ana you're wearing red satin?"'she gives her the once over and I can see her tabloid reporter mind start to stir.

"It's Christian's birthday. He wanted us both to look nice," Ana says and Kavanagh turns her eyes to me. This does feel like my birthday eight years ago. At least this time she doesn't have my secrets in writing.

"This isn't the Kennedy conspiracy, Katherine. We're just being festive," I say, but she doesn't look convinced. "We can't all be a slave to denim like my brother."

"My ears are burning," Elliot says, coming out from the hallway in, of course, jeans and button up shirt. "Someone talking about me?" I want to tell him no, it's just because you married the devil that parts of your body feel like they're on fire, but I refrain.

"Uncle El," Teddy says, running up to him. "Will you show me that magic trick again?"

"What magic trick?" I ask.

"The one where he pulls his finger," Teddy says.

"Please do not teach my son that one," I say and Elliot laughs.

"It's all good," Elliot says. "I got more tricks up my sleeve than that one."

"Cool!" Teddy says and follows him to the main room. I can hear the fart noses well after they disappear into the hall.

"Girls, you want to help grandma in the kitchen?" Grace asks Ava and Phoebe who are complementing each other on their hair and accessories.

"Just 'cause I'm a girl, doesn't mean I gotta live in the kitchen," Ava says, like she memorized it. Hell, where'd she learn that speech, I wonder. I look over to a smiling Kavanagh.

"I'm not living there," Phoebe says. "I just wanna get there first and eat all of the best chocolate before the boys get it." That's my girl. She'll be a CEO in no time.

"How about I help, too?" Carrick says and takes both girls' hands as they skip off to the kitchen with him and my mom.

"I'll give you a hand as well," Gail calls out.

"Heavens no," Grace says. "You're guests. Enjoy the cheese platter and hors d'oeuvres in family room."

Taylor stands there looking at me for a moment. I'm beginning to get creeped out.

"What's wrong?" I ask him.

"Will you be needing anything else, sir?"

"No, Taylor. Go eat your cheese," I say and he and Gail head off. Hell, I won't be surprised if he asks me if he can pick his teeth and wipe his ass later. But, he better water my flowers.

"I'm going to refill my drink," Kate says and walks to the bar off the kitchen.

"Shall we?" I say to Ana, motioning to the hall leading to the guests.

"Yes, Sir," she says and winks as she takes my arm.

"If you don't stop with that, I will take you upstairs to my old bedroom right now and fuck you senseless there."

"Incentive, huh?" She giggles.

"Behave." I kiss her on the head.

"Have you enjoyed your birthday so far, Mr. Grey?" she asks as we walk.

"It's been perfect. And it's about to get even more perfect." I stop and look at her and smile, then lean in for a kiss. And just as I think the night will go exactly as I planned, a flash blinds me. I pull my lips from Ana's and throw my hands over her in protection. At first I think I've been shot or a bomb has gone off, but I quickly realize it's worse—it's the photographer.

"Smile guys," he says and flashes a few more off. "Happy birthday, Christian." He reaches out to shake my hand, but it's clenched at a fist at my side. I don't lift it for fear it will spontaneously crack his jaw.

"Jose," I say, biting my teeth. "You're here."

"Wouldn't miss it," he says. "Hey Ana." He hugs her and I manually remove his tentacles and pull her aside.

"Would you excuse us for a moment?" I say to him. "The Mrs. and I need to discuss something."

"Sure man, I was just gonna use the little boys' room." Appropriate. He scampers off.

"Ana, I told you I didn't want him here," I say, shocked and hurt that she would go against my birthday wishes.

"I didn't invite him," she whispers and tries to hush me.

"What? What do you mean? He's here."

"I knew you didn't want him at your birthday. I wouldn't do that to you."

"Who the hell would do this to me?"

I look across the room and see Vodka and Kavanagh—in that order—traipsing across the foyer.

"Thank you so much for the gift," I say to her, stopping her in her tracks.

"I didn't get you anything," she says.

"He's talking about you inviting Jose," Ana says.

"What? I didn't invite Jose," she says.

"Oh right," I say.

"I didn't. I haven't spoken to him for weeks, until tonight. I thought Ana invited him."

"I didn't," Ana says.

"What about Elliot?" I ask.

"What about me?" Elliot asks, all of sudden appearing in the doorway. What, does he have dog whistle hearing all of a sudden? Every time I call him he's at my feet. Maybe it's Kavanagh's home training.

"Don't fuck with me, Elliot. Did you invite the photographer?"

"Was I supposed to? I thought my iPhone would do the trick." He laughs. "Don't worry, I'll use filters on you before I post on my Facebook.

"Not a real photographer—Jose!"

"No, man. I thought Ana did."

"I didn't. I swear," she says.

"Did Mom do this?" I ask.

"I highly doubt it," he says. "That'd be all kinds of weird if Mom was texting Jose."

"Then, why the hell is he here?" I ask.

"Dude, why are you so inhospitable?" he asks. "Loosen up and love all people, man."

"Well, I guess that mantra got you through the first decade of the 21st century," I say.

"Hey, second decade is standing right here," Kavanagh says.

"Okay, let's not get all upset about this," Ana says.

"You're right, I don't want you stressed out," I say to Ana, stroking her back. "But, I just don't know who could have done this."

"Happy birthday, Christian!"

In a blur, arms are thrown around me and my ear drums are nearly blown from the squealing, and I immediately know who—Mia.

I'm just about to ask her when the little weasel returns from the John smelling like my mother's lilac hand soap.

"You guys almost forgot to invite Jose," Mia says. "But, I took care of it and now the whole gang is together for your birthday," Mia says, putting one arm around Jose and one arm around me. "Isn't this just the best?!"

I grimace. Happy fucking birthday to me.

#######

"When Christian turned nine we took him down to California to see that place with all the whales," my grandfather says as my mother and the German girl—I still don't know her fucking name or why she hasn't finished her foreign exchange program in eight years—put the platters of food on the table.

"Sea World?" Ana asks, her eyes fixed on Goldie Braids as she holds tight to my hand. She's still jealous and staking her claim after all these years. I like it.

"No, the beach," Grandpa Theo says. "I'd never seen so many fat people letting it all hang out in one place."

"You weren't looking so hot yourself, you old coot," my grandmother says.

"You didn't say that when we got back to our room at night."

"Dad," Grace says, shaking her head.

"Mom, did you make sure the pork was cooked sufficiently?" I whisper, nodding in the direction of Ana and the children. "Listeria is no joke."

"Yes, of course, dear," she says as she plates the tenderloin.

I look across the way to Mia and Jose laughing it up about something. All the whispers and smiles are making me uncomfortable. And not the normal level of uncomfortably I get from whispering, smiling people—worse.

"What's up with those two?" I lean over and whisper to Ana.

"Who?" Ana asks and I casually nod to Mia and Mr. Party Crasher.

"Don't they seem a bit too friendly?" I ask.

"Christian, they're friends."

"And?"

"It may be news to you, but friends are normally friendly."

"Are you saying I'm not?"

"You are to me." She gives me a kiss on the cheek.

"I could be even friendlier," I say as I work my fingers up her leg under the table. She slides my hand away when I get too close to the promised land. She's always so funny about me fingering her at my parent's dinner table.

"Uncle Jose, Uncle Jose," Phoebe and Ava say, crawling all over him.

"Hey girls," he says and hugs them. Ana immediately firms her grip on my hand, much like a balloon she fears suddenly might fly off, strangle a winged demon, and pop drop him into the ocean.

"We missed you!" Ava says.

"Yeah, Daddy said you wasn't gonna be here," Phoebe says. "But look, here you are!"

I shake my head with a grimace.

"Phoebe, come take your seat, before your food gets all cold," I point to the chair next to me and—after hugging the photographer goodbye like they're leaving for war—she and Ava scurry over and take their places. I immediately start to cut the meat on Phoebe's plate. It's like second nature. She'll be sixteen and I'll just find myself cutting away.

"Thank you, Daddy," she says. "You make the best chew pieces for my teeths."

"You're welcome," I smile.

Taylor is chatting it up with my grandfather about launching missiles in the desert and which freeze dried foods give you the runs. I hope Taylor remembers to check on the boathouse. He's started in on the scotch.

"I'd like to propose a toast," Carrick says, standing at the head of the table. "When a father watches his son when he's small he has a lot of hopes and dreams for him. When you were ten, Christian, and you hit that home run that won the game in extra innings, I thought you might be a great ballplayer—"

"Then he struck out," Elliot teases.

"Thank you, Elliot." I roll my eyes.

"But seriously," Carrick says, a bit emotional. "There's nothing a father wants more than to see his child happy. And seeing the life you have built with Ana and your children, makes me the proudest father around." He sniffs back a tear.

"Thank you, Dad," I say, and I'm a bit emotional as well. Ana must sense this, as she squeezes my hand.

Carrick raises a glass and we all clink a toast and drink. It was surprisingly short and sweet, and I think that it's over—but it's not.

"Now, if we could go around the table and say a few words or an anecdote about the birthday boy—"

"Dad, no please," I say, holding up a hand.

"I'd like to start," Elliot says and stands up with his beer in hand. "Bro, I cried and screamed when they brought you home. And I prayed every night for the stork to take you back."

"Elliot, what a gift your words are." I shake my head and take a sip of Pinot.

"But, I eventually accepted that you were staying and then that's when we had some good times," Elliot says. "Out of everybody I know, there's no one I'd rather have had to go rafting with or throw apples at or have keep watch when Mom and Dad were in bed and I went couch surfing..."

"Oh Elliot!" Grace says.

"What's couch surfing?" Teddy asks.

"Nothing you'll ever do," I say.

"Is that like carpet munching?" my grandfather asks.

"Dad!" Grace says, horrified.

"Yuck, who would want to eat carpet?" Teddy asks and I shake my head, hoping I have at least ten more years before he asks that question again.

"But, the time I remember most is when I was hanging out with Mr. cob-up-his-butt Grey..."

"He said butt," Teddy says and the kids double over in hysterics. Elliot should go on the road with a show—potty humor from the porcelain god himself.

"Well, this guy gets a call from a certain little lady..." Elliot looks at Ana. "And he goes nuts. He starts jumping around. I thought there was a fire at the Heathman or something. But, he tells me we have to go to some bar in the middle of the night on the outskirts of Portland to find this girl. She could be in trouble. He can barely get his shoes on the right feet to get to the door..."

I look over to Jose who has a cringeworthy smile on his face, I'm sure remembering that night. The beginning of my life was the end of his. I almost feel bad for the guy. Almost.

"Anyway," Elliot continues. "Long story short, he found the girl and so did I." He looks to Kavanagh, who smiles back up at him. "And I'm thankful that the stork didn't answer my prayers and pick you back up and give you to the gorillas in the jungle to raise."

"Thank you, Elliot," I say.

"And you're easy to beat at pool, too." He sits back down.

"Tell me about it," Ana says. I look over to her. Naughty minx.

"Oh, I'm ready for you to lose a round," I whisper in her ear and stroke her belly. Though, I think that will have to happen a few months postnatal. Getting her up on that pool table right now would send us both to the hospital.

The torch is passed from person to person as we eat and they go around the table giving thanks for me, remembering funny stories and sometimes shedding a tear. I feel like I'm at my own wake. The only thing reminding me I'm still alive is my stirring erection as I run my hand along Ana's satin covered leg under the table.

"Even though Uncle Christian makes us wear our sweaters to the beach and we gotta look both ways four times when we cross a street, even if it's just a sidewalk, he's kinda funny and he knows how to play with dolls," Ava says.

"My Daddy is the most funnest Daddy ever," Phoebe says. "He's like a boy during the daytimes, then when gets home he is a princess and has the prettiest eyes to do make-ups on, and he lets me curl his hair and he wears princess stuff..."

"I always knew, Bro," Elliot says. "I always knew." I cup a hand around my face and mouth to him to "fuck off."

"My Dad is the coolest because he plays baseball with me and we ride bikes and we talk man stuff and I wanna be just like him when I grow up."

"Nothing would make me prouder." I smile at Teddy, then look to my Dad. I could never appreciate the love my father had for me growing up until I had Teddy. And now I truly do know.

"I'd like to say something," Jose says.

Oh hell.

"I've known Christian for about as long as Ana and Kate have..." he says. "And, well, I never had too much family. Mainly just my dad and me..." What about his grandmother that hawks all the cars? Why have we never met her, anyway? Do they abandon her on holidays to spend them with us? "And you didn't have to, but you invited me into your lives and into your homes... And now I'm just grateful all of you are in my life. Like my family."

"Who is he?" my grandfather whispers and my grandmother stuffs a roll in his mouth.

"So, I want to say to you, Christian..." Jose raises his beer and looks right at me, like he's just had an ass wax, and though he's trying, he can't hold back the tears. "Thanks for being like the brother I never had."

"Thank you, Jose." I smile and give him an appreciative nod. I never expected such a display of affection from the photographer. When all the women are chatting Mr. Don Juan Wonderful up, I lean over Phoebe to whisper to Taylor, "Put him under surveillance tomorrow."

"He already is, sir," Taylor whispers back.

"Heavier," I say. No one's that brotherly unless they're up to something.

"Okay, enough of the anecdotes," I say. "Everyone enjoy the beautiful meal my mother's prepared." The quicker we eat, the quicker we cut the cake, and the quicker I get Ana out to the boathouse.

"Let me say something," Ana says.

"You don't have to Ana," I say and kiss the side of her head. "You can tell me later, baby." Like after I've slipped that ring on your finger and we've fucked in the rose petals.

"I want everyone to hear," she says and brushes my cheek with her fingertips. "Eight years ago my husband and I got engaged on his birthday. And it was the best day of my life. I had no idea what lay ahead for us, but I knew that no matter what, I wanted it to be with him. So, I feel like he has given me the best gift I could ever possibly have hoped for on his birthday. He's given me not only himself, but my home, all of you, and my children..." She looks to Teddy and Phoebe and brushes her belly, and I can faintly see our babies moving beneath the satin. "You always say I've given you everything..." She takes my hand and squeezes it. "Well, back at you, Mr. Grey."

"Oh, Ana," I say, misty with emotion, and I can't help myself. I take her face with my hands and bring her in for a kiss. This woman that I would give my life for, gives me life itself.

"Get a room," Elliot says.

"That a boy!" my grandfather says. "Knocked up with two and still going for more."

"Dad!" Grace scolds.

"Let's get out of here, Ana," I whisper in her ear.

"What?" she asks. "We're in the middle of dinner."

"It's okay. They'll understand." I look to my mother and she smiles and nods her approval. I stand, then take Ana's hand, and with gentle effort help her up from her chair.

"Excuse us," I say and start to escort Ana out.

"I didn't literally mean get one right now," Elliot says.

"Hot damn! That's my red blooded boy!" my grandfather says.

"Mommy and Daddy is in love," Phoebe says and I look back at her and give her a wink and she giggles.

"Do we still get to eat the cake?" Elliot asks, but we're out of the room before I can hear the answer. Let them all eat cake, I've got my Ana.

"Where are we going?" Ana asks, but I don't answer her as I lead her out the back doors and underneath the apple tree, where we kissed so many moons ago at that first ball.

"Let me look at you here," I say, stopping at that very spot under my old bedroom window. I hold her face and watch as the moonlight glimmers in her baby blues and sparkles on her skin. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in that silver gown with the feathered mask on that young summer night, but right now in red satin and about to burst with our two sons, she's nothing short of magnificent.

"What is it?" she asks, looking into my eyes, searching.

"You," I say. "It's always only ever been you." And I kiss her there under those limbs heavy with fruit and summer and the promise of more.

A crackle of thunder sounds. We pull away from our kiss to catch a flash of lightning breaking through the clouds as raindrops begin to fall.

Oh shit. We're already halfway there. Going back would be as much effort as going forward, so I chose to do what I've always done with Ana—take her hand and fly.

"We'd better hurry," I say and remove my jacket to hold over her in the light rain.

"You still haven't told me where we're going," she says as I lead the way down the green tree lined path. I laugh to myself, remembering me carrying her down this same path that first dinner with my family, sans panties, and with all together different intentions.

"I know," I say and she scrunches her nose and squints her eyes trying to figure me out. The rain begins to fall harder. I'm getting drenched, but at least she's staying mostly dry beneath the wool of my jacket. The thunder and lightning provide a dramatic soundtrack to this romantic jaunt through my parent's estate.

Finally we reach the boat house and I stop at the door, the awning overhead shielding us from the storm.

"I promised you I'd never stop giving you hearts and flowers," I say, as I turn the knob and open the door. I expect to see a room filled with roses, violinists at the ready, and a bed scattered with petals. What we find is a room full of I don't know what the fuck garden variety of flowers, unlit candles, and one violinist who looks to be north of one hundred and two.

"Where is everyone?" I ask, stopping him midway through _The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face._

"They didn't show up because of the rain," he says, then continues on. What the hell?

"Since when are violinists afraid of weather?"

"Water harms the wood."

"Why aren't you afraid, then?"

"I'm eighty-nine. I don't care if my wood lasts."

He continues on. He's played so much about the first time seeing her face I wish it was the last time I was seeing his. Fuck. Taylor didn't check on this. Of course not; he was too busy chin-wagging about dehydrated cabbage and launching explosives—both in the toilet and out. That's it—I'll never let him relax and eat cheese or drink scotch again.

"And I didn't order this mess of flowers," I say, pointing to the poorly arranged bouquets. "I ordered my wife's wedding roses. Do these look like Anastasia Rose roses to you?"

"Not my job," the violinist says, briefly stopping to spit out the words, then continuing again. Hell, he doesn't quit no matter what. He reminds me of one of those guys who played 'till the water hit his nose on the Titanic.

"This whole thing was supposed to be different," I say.

"Christian—" Ana says.

"You were supposed to have rose petals on your satin sheets, not dandelions."

"Christian—" Ana says again.

"It was supposed to be better than the first time." I run my hands through my hair. "It was supposed to be more."

"Christian," Ana says for a third time, taking hold of my shoulders and turning me to face her. "Don't you see? It is."

I look at her for a moment, then let out a sigh. "But, it's not how I planned."

"You're right, it's not." She smiles and strokes my cheek. "Nothing with us ever has been."

She takes my hand and leads me to a large bouquet of mismatched blooms that sits by the edge of the bed.

"These remind me of our meadow flowers," she says, picking one up and smelling it. "And the scent brings me back to when you took me to our house when it was being remodeled and I was first pregnant with Teddy, and we had that picnic..."

I smile. The first time she showed me our little blip. That small picture sits in a frame on my desk at the center of all our family pictures. The start of it all.

"And I love the unlit candles," she says.

"You do? Why?" I ask.

"It reminds me of the night of the first ball when you lit all those candles and nearly caught the place on fire and Taylor had to put them out..."

"Yes, I remember that." I was such a fool for her then. I still am.

"And I love the fact that we can light them together." She takes a candle lighter propped on a table that someone obviously intended to use but forgot, and holding to my hand we light each wick.

"And I love this song," she says, nodding to the old man playing, and then taking both of my hands in hers as in the start of a dance. "Because you made love to me in our playroom to this on your birthday, after I said yes."

"Are you attempting the lead, Mrs. Grey?" I ask as she starts to move us to the song.

"You always said I was good at topping from the bottom."

"That you are." I smile.

Her belly is so big now, but I pull her as close as I can to dance with her. It feels different and yet the same as it did that night eight years ago. It's as if a lifetime has passed, but not a moment.

"This was a beautiful surprise," she says, her cheek nestled into my chest as the song finishes.

"You ain't seen nothing yet." I smile and kiss the top of her head.

"Any requests?" the violinist asks.

"You may leave," I say to the old timer.

"How's that?" he asks, cupping an ear.

"You may leave," I say louder.

"Didn't you like my song?"

"It was wonderful, but we'd like to be alone now," I say and raise a brow. He looks confused at first, but then looks to the bed and then to me and his face lights up with a smile. Maybe I should introduce him to my grandfather. They can yuck it up about my sex life all night.

"Do I still get my full paycheck?" he asks.

"Yes and you'll get all of the rest of those idiots' checks who didn't show up, too," I say. He's tried so hard, why the hell not.

"That's three more pay checks," he says.

"Don't spend it all in one place," I say. "And make sure they all know about it."

"Alrighty! You've got a keeper there, Mrs. Grey," he says to Ana.

"I know." She smiles and looks up to me, eyes brimming with happy tears, as he heads out.

"So, do you want to get more comfortable, Mr. Grey?" she asks as she starts to unbutton my soaked shirt. God, her hands feel so good touching my chest.

"Yes, but not just yet," I say, removing her fingertips from my buttons. "I wanted to say something to you, tonight..." I step back and pull a folded up paper out from my pocket. It's all wet and the ink has run all over the place, but still I unfold it to read. There's no way these words won't be said. "I'm not always good at putting how I feel into words...so I wrote this down."

"Oh Christian," she says.

"Eight years and five weeks ago I first saw you." An ink stained water droplet falls to the floor. Perhaps a part of this writing will remain stained in the planks of this wood forever, as will the story of our love. "I didn't know what to make of you. You were stunning and sweet, but then a bit sassy, with this energy I couldn't quite bridle, but for the life of me I wanted to try." She laughs and I can't help but grin. "You kept me on my toes in the first five minutes I knew you, and I hadn't yet discovered that I liked that. I would in the coming weeks. I would discover a lot of things. By the end of that interview I didn't know if I would ever see you again and some part of me was frustratingly resigned to the fact that you would go. But, then you said my name. And it was unlike anyone had said my name before. There was no want or judgement or even pity in the way your voice held the letters of who I was. There was a kindness and a compassion and the name I had carried for so long with shame and pain and burden didn't feel so heavy when you said it. I couldn't process it then, why you calling me by name struck me so deeply, but now I can." I look up to her and a tear rolls down her cheek as my eyes well. "You knew me already, like no one ever has or ever will... and you still said my name."

She stands still for a moment, watching me, then rushes forward and wraps her arms around my neck, sobbing into my shoulder.

"What's wrong?" I ask, stroking her hair.

"Nothing. It's all perfect. I love this. I love you so much."

"I love you so much, baby." I pull away to look at her. My Ana. "And, I have something else..." I step back and put my paper in my pocket, replacing it in my hand with a familiar red box. She gasps seeing it, and I bring myself to one knee before her.

"Anastasia, I asked you to marry me all those years ago. Everyone thought we were too young, and we didn't know what we were doing, that we were just caught up in the throes of passion...or they thought you were knocked up..." We both laugh as I am directly facing her belly. "Little did they know how knocked up you would eventually be, or how often." She giggles. "But seriously, if I could go back and do it all again, I would do one thing very different..." She frowns, but then I smile. "I would've asked you sooner."

I open the box and she brings a hand to her mouth upon seeing the ring, and her eyes sparkle more brilliantly than anything in that box.

"Anastasia Rose Steele Grey," I say. "Will you marry me again and again and again...?

"Yes!" she says. "Again and again and again." She nods and the tears are streaming down her cheeks. I sniffle back a few tears of my own and I place the ring on her finger. It fits perfectly. Good job, Donald.

"It's spectacular," she says. "But, it's way too much—" I stop her protestations with a kiss.

"I think we should do exactly what we did here eight years ago," I murmur against her lips and then look to the bed.

"I'd say I agree," she says and our kissing deepens.

I'm sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders and freeing a breast from the lace of her bra with my teeth when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Fuck! I want to ignore it, but what if it's an emergency? The worried father in me beats out the horny husband and pulls it out.

"What is it?" Ana asks, breathless and still working on unbuttoning my shirt as I read the text.

"It's my mom," I say. "She says the kids are scared of the thunder, so she's staying up with them. Not to worry..."

"Oh no," Ana says. "Well, they do always like to come into bed with us during storms." She looks out the window at the rain. "But, they'll be okay with your mom..."

"Yeah..."

We both look at each other. Half undressed and hotter for each other than even we were back then. We know what we both want to do right now.

"Mrs. Grey, would you take a—pun definitely intended—rain check so we can go see about our children?"

"Yes, that sounds like a perfect idea." She smiles and then kisses me.

"This certainly is different than it was all those years ago," I say.

"Yes, it certainly is," she smiles.

I pick up an umbrella from a holder and open it for her once we step outside. And we walk back to the house together; our celebratory, hot-as-hell lovemaking put on hold for hot cocoa, snuggles, and four of us—make that almost six of us— squeezed into my childhood bed.

Taylor was right before. I am one lucky son of a bitch.

 _ **The babies are coming soon...**_


	15. Chapter 15

**_Sorry for the delay! Lots more to come! Here is a big chapter. Hope you enjoy! xox_**

My wife is tremendous. Tremendous in every sense of the word. She is astonishing, breathtaking, magnificent and Lord have mercy—big. No, big is definitely an understatement. I mean, I've seen her through two pregnancies before, but this is something else. I never knew someone as slight as Ana could grow to such epic proportions in so many areas and opposing directions. Her belly, her breasts, her ass, even her lips are three, maybe four times their normal size. And it's all so fucking hot! She gave me a blow job last night that had me seeing stars. And not just the ones close by, constellations in galaxies far, far away. No, Ana isn't big—she's astronomical.

"Earth to Christian," Ana says. Maybe I have been to space and back. Although looking at her here—the sunlight beaming through the curtains of a picture window, burnishing her hair and lighting her eyes—I think I bypassed the stars and went straight to the seventh level of heaven. If there ever was a vision of maternal love and sex goddesstry all in one, it is my wife.

"Prussian Prince or Violet Dusk?" she asks.

"Excuse me?"

"What color do we paint the room?"

"What room?"

"The babies' room," she giggles, and playfully swats my arm like she thinks I'm kidding. "The one we're standing in."

Oh shit. The room. We're standing in front of the decorator. In the room. How the hell am I supposed to make coherent decisions when my wife's breasts are as big as her head?

"Anything you want, Ana," I say. "But, not violet. That's purple, which is just a phone call away from pink."

"Do colors call each other?" Phoebe asks, as she twirls and leaps in her tutu and princess crown, moving across a carpet that will soon be converted from eggshell to some hue of baby blue. Three of the five extra bedrooms upstairs will be filled with our children now. Though once, long ago, when I first stepped foot into this house with only the hope of buying it for a future with my Ana, it was a lofty goal to fill even one. Now, I can't wait for the day we run out of bedrooms and have to add on a story.

"Yes," I say. "And purple is pinks' bff."

"Yay! I all of my whole life knew it!" Phoebe cheers, and Chester—who's on her shoulder in a blue tutu and Baryshnikov style tights, if Baryshnikov was a rat gigolo to Barbie—nearly takes a nose dive, but somehow, even in ballet slippers, he still hangs on.

"The violet is more like a dust, Mr. Grey," says Cordero Cabanis the third—or "CC3"as our new highly touted, highly priced, highly weird interior designer likes to be called. "Dust is en vogue."

This guy. All 4'8" of him. It's like a grasshopper decided to celebrate Halloween dressed as a post-apocalyptic Mozart. I'm not sure who the other two are who came before him, or if it's a real name at all or just two flipped letters on the marijuana plant that he came up with while smoking a joint, or why he likes to be called something that sounds like a Star Wars robot, but I don't fucking care. He's over fifty, gay and supposedly the best.

"I don't want dust," I say. "That's like dirt. My boys are not getting a dirt colored room."

"I want a dirt colored room!" Teddy says as he runs around pretending to blast asteroids with his ray gun. Chester hisses at him every time the phony red laser shoots across his face.

"Nobody's having dirt as their wall color," I say. "We need clean, solid."

"How about a yellow?" Ana asks.

"That's so 'we aren't finding out before so we want to stay politically neutral'," I say, shaking my head. "Plus, it's too aggressive."

"How so?" Ana asks.

"It's like constant sunlight all the time. How can you expect the babies to relax when it always feels like they should be getting up?"

"I thought I could pick anything I want," she says.

"Yes, anything but purple, yellow or pink," I say.

"Or dirt," Teddy says and blasts away at an imaginary alien in the closet.

"Purples are good for relaxation," CC3 says, dressed in nothing but it.

"What did I say about purple?" I glare at him.

"That it's pink's best friend," Phoebe says and she and Chester spin around the room. "Look at my cartwheel, Daddy!"

"No, that's far too dangerous—" And of course, heeding her father's warnings like she does, she hurls herself over into one. Damn it; I knew we shouldn't have let her take pre-kinder gymnastics. They should just call it suicide squad. She's one flip away from a body cast! Wait, how did Chester keep hanging on through all that?

"That's amazing, Phoebe," I say. "But, never do that again." She immediately does it again.

"Why don't we talk about the plan for the mother and infants bonding pool," CC3 says. "Lilac and lavender are soothing, we can add them to water. I'm attempting to create familiar, tranquil surroundings with binaural beats on surround sound. It'll all mimic the womb."

What the fuck?

"What do mean wading pool?" I ask, grabbing the plans he's holding in his hands and giving them the once over. Even the aromas he wants to use are purple. "Are you insane? I'm not having a pool in our babies' room!"

"I want a pool in my room!" Phoebe says.

"You have a pool—a Barbie one. In the dream mansion." And it's only three inches deep. Not even Chester can drown when he falls off his swan floatie.

"It's not a pool in the literal sense," CC3 says. I can almost see his eyes through his purple shaded glasses. Almost. No wonder he wants everything violet and lavender, that's all he sees. "It's more of a fillable relaxation egg for mother and sons to find warm tranquility with soothing streams and aromatherapeutic properties. It would be placed in the oversized, en suite bathroom."

"You mean like a bathtub?" I ask.

"Some would say that, but not I." He grins. Oh brother. What's his line for the toilet—nature's calling transitional fountain?

"Look, it's an asteroid flying out of control," Teddy says as he turns the corner from the closet and fires his blaster at a spinning Phoebe. "I have to get it before Mars is exploded."

"Ahhh!"'she screams and runs as he chases her in a circle around my legs. Whether in fear or attack, Chester launches off her shoulder and latches on with his front claws into my ass.

"Hey, no blasting your sister," I say as Chester starts to travel up my back.

"But, Dad!" Teddy says.

"No buts, but get the rat off mine!" Phoebe grabs him, leaving the kids giggling over the butt joke. At least he didn't bite me, though I think I have bloody claw marks at the base of my spine. Brings back teenage memories...

"Why don't we think about a color this week and then progress from there," CC3 says.

"What do you mean think about a color this week? We need to move on it now. She's almost due."

"But, collective imagination is the key to meaningful surroundings."

"By the time we collectively imagine everything they'll be entering high school."

"Where will I be, Daddy?" Phoebe asks as she sits on the floor re-tying the ribbons to Chester's ballet slippers.

"Where will you be when, Princess?"

"I'm four more many than my baby brothers." She counts on her fingers glittered with pink polish that, I confess, she also used on my big toes. "Where will I be when they go to high school?"

Oh my god. Phoebe leaving for college. Fraternity boys and keg stands and no parental curfews.

"You'll still be at home listening to your father and crocheting biblical verses into your sweaters." Ana nudges me with her elbow and rolls her eyes. Does she really think I'm kidding?

Wow, it seems like yesterday that I was surprising Ana with Teddy's nursery. The Little Prince mural is still in his room now, as are the glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars and the planet with the boy and his glass covered rose; but the crib and the mobile of sheep and moons that played soft lullabies for my first sleeping son have long since been stored away.

Wasn't Phoebe just that snow white bundle in pink whose walls I had decorated with fairies and who I protectively rocked in a custom carved chair adorned with her name. Now, her room is a Cinderella kingdom that I've also created for her, but in far too few midnights those kingdom gates will be closed by a teenage girl.

"Well, you can help me look through the swatches tonight and we can get back to him," Ana says, rubbing my back as she does when she knows I'm emotional or stressed or just need to be touched. Somehow, she always knows.

"Yes, wonderful," I say, choking back emotion as I look down to all of her and squeeze her soft, warm hand. And it delights me that my fingers are nearly sliced by that new eight carat rock.

"Good. I'll be looking forward to your choices," CC3 says. "I have great things planned for tandem bassinets and heated massage rocking chairs... Oh, and the changing suite."

"Well, if you have a diaper changing table that does all the work, I'll pay for your retirement," I say.

"You already have, Mr. Grey," he says gayly—not in the homosexual sense, the happy sense, but really he's both. When he walks out the door Taylor is at the ready in the hallway to see him out. He always is. It's remarkable.

"So what do you think?" Ana asks as I lean over and kiss her forehead.

"I think, I'm a lucky s.o.b." I smile.

"Christian, what about our surprise?" Ana whispers to me as the kids play.

"Are you sure?" I ask. "This could go bad and scar our sons for life."

"We'll oversee it and set parameters. The kids will love it."

"Okay," I hesitantly agree and put my arm around her waist—or rather her back, curving my fingers around the base of Mt. St. Ana. I look down at her. Oh Lord, her mountains. "Kids, listen up."

They immediately stop playing and plop down on the carpet in a cross legged position, eagerly looking up at us. Since when do they do as they're told?

"Why are you sitting down there like that?" I ask.

"'Cause you gotta sit fast and pretzel-like for 'nouncements," Teddy says.

"Yeah," Phoebe says. "Or you get happy face stickers taken away on the board." Oh, that's what they do in school. I shake my head. Maybe I should employ the happy sticker methodology more often.

"Good. Now then, we know you've both wanted to get involved in the babies' naming, so we thought you could help us."

"Yay!" Phoebe throws her arms up. "It's gonna be Starfish and Ken!"

"No, Stan!" Teddy says. Again with the Stan!

"No, none of those," I say. "We want you to write down three other names you'd like to have considered for your brothers' middle names."

"Why not those names?" Teddy asks.

"Because... it'll be more fun to imagine up new ones," Ana says. Quick thinking.

"I think Stan is super fun!" Teddy says.

"He's a riot, but not Stan," I say.

"What about Butterfly?" Phoebe asks.

"No, not Butterfly."

"But, that's not one of the ones you said we couldn't have." She's a sharp tack. She's definitely going to be a CEO. Negotiating skills are on point.

"Okay, keep Butterfly as an option, but we want you to think this out for a little while, as you only get three suggestions, and then they will be voted on in a family caucus—"

"What's a caucus?" Teddy asks.

"It's the forest where the yucky white tree veggies that you have to put cheeses on or you will die, that taste like the doo-doo's of dirt persons grow," Phoebe says.

I give Ana a "what the hell?" look. She whispers, "cauliflower."

"We have to eat them to vote?" Teddy asks, looking like the Jolly Green Giant just shit on his ballot. Is that the doo-doo of a dirt person? A man made of vegetable matter? Would make sense. Why am I contemplating this?

"No, a caucus is like an election. We all vote as a family, and if the names are approved by the parental ways and means committee," I nod to Ana, "we'll use them."

"Yay!" they cheer and immediately start spouting out ideas. Lancelot and Diamond being among the first.

Why do I think I'm going to be sorry about this?

#######

"How about we name you Ben and Jerry?" I whisper to the babies in Ana's belly per my usual early morning routine, smiling to myself at the inside joke. Ana's sleeping soundly—not surprising since I fucked her silly last night. And Lord, that was not an easy task. There's so much primping and pillow propping and gymnastic flexibility required these days I've impressed myself that I haven't pulled any important groin muscles—I've tried to add flexibility into my workouts with Claude. I marvel this morning at my good fortune for being able to watch her holding our children like this. There is nothing like it. She's coming up on her due date and even though l can't wait to meet these little men, I will so miss these hours.

I used to just snuggle into her to talk to them, then as she grew I had to prop up on my elbows, but now she's so big I have to fully sit up on my knees and drape over her, almost as if I'm kneeling to a deity—which is appropriate. My goddess Anastasia.

The babies stir beneath my fingers as I brush her skin, slipping the sheet down and sliding her satin camisole up in an effort to get closer to them and to her. There's a faint light peeking through the window shades and it's just enough for me to see what I believe is a tiny foot press out, stretching and twisting against his mother's skin. Amazing. I lean over and kiss it right where I think the little toes should be and it kicks back again. That little guy will be a soccer player for sure. Once they see Grey bend it, they'll say— Beckham who?

My other little one flutters around, not nearly as demonstrative with his movements, but active and determined all the same. Perhaps he'll be the quieter of the two; more reserved. A great thinker or political wordsmith or even a lauded poet. Most fathers wouldn't like the idea of poetry as a career path for their child, but I'm a fucking billionaire. If he wants to be a great poet, I'll do everything in my power to help him overthrow Shakespeare.

"I can't wait to meet you boys," I say and my little poet taps the cheek I've laid against Ana's skin with an elbow or knee. I kiss that place, too, stroking my finger along her skin where he just left his mark. I'm still amazed that although unborn, I know so much about them already, and I think they know me, too.

Again, this all makes me think of when Teddy and Phoebe were in Ana's belly and how far and quickly they've grown away from it. Teddy plays t-ball now and Phoebe struts around pretending to be a 'real grown lady' in Ana's high heels. And although they slip and slide off her feet as she walks, one day they won't. And one day she won't grab for my hand when she stumbles.

But, who am I kidding, I'll still grab for it and hold her tight and make sure no harm ever comes to her or any of my family. Ever. I will always—even when I no longer have breath or body—protect what's mine.

I've been reflecting a lot as of late, I suppose the eminent birth of the babies is churning these memories. And I find myself thinking again about that night Ana told me I was going to be a father for the first time. And although I'm sickened by all of it—leaving her, seeing Elena, getting intoxicated—I do have a fondness, now in hindsight, of that seven-minute cab ride that took me back home.

" _Taylor where the fuck are you?" I said into my Blackberry as I attempted to put one foot in front of the other walking on the sidewalk downtown, but it all eluded me. It being the walking, the talking, the sidewalk... But, a bottle-and-a-half of wine and all that bourbon sure didn't. I nearly twisted my ankle off the curb as I looked at my watch, but by the time I figured out what the littleness and bigness of the hands meant, it wasn't the same time anymore. Hell, I wasn't even sure it was the same year. "It's only eleven-o-eleven a.m.," I slurred as I squinted at the watch face. "Why are you sleeping?"_

 _"Sir, it's after one a.m.," Taylor said._

 _"What does that mean?"_

 _"It's after one a.m."_

 _"Who asked you?" Fuck, I must've been seeing double—or rather quadruple and hadn't recognized that a pitch black sky couldn't indicate late morning. I used to be so perceptive. That was before, when I had the ability to tie my shoelaces and spell my own name._

 _"Sir, what's wrong?" Taylor asked. I kicked into a turned over trash can and two cats that were fucking popped out. I eyed the randy tom._

 _"You'd better be neutered or your whole fucking life is going to change," I said, but the cat just hissed and ran. Not much different than what I had done earlier with Ana._

 _"Sir?"_

 _"You want to know what's wrong? I'll tell you. I'm naked in the middle of the goddamn street, that's what wrong!"_

 _"Naked?" He sounded horrified. Oh, he heard neutered and thought my dick was out in public._

 _"I mean, I've got my clothes on..." I actually had to double check as my skin was numb to fabric. "But, I have no driver and no security, so I practically am. So, it's your fault. You made me this naked." I moved to run a hand through my hair but ended up slapping my eye. At least I was numb. "Why weren't you following me?"_

 _"I'm sorry, but I told you I was sleeping, sir."_

 _"When did you start doing that?"_

 _"Where are you, Mr. Grey?"_

 _"I'm by the beauty parlor," I said with disdain._

 _"What are you doing there?"_

 _"Getting highlights for fall," I said, attempting sarcasm, but I think he might've believed me. "What do you think I'm doing?"_

 _"I really don't know, sir."_

" _Hey do you need a ride?" asked a cab driver who out of nowhere pulled up to the curb next to me. I tried to focus on him, but the focus I'd taken off my feet caused me to trip and nearly face plant into a statue outside a bank of some family playing around a fountain—mother, father, son, daughter... And some little pet rabbit or skunk or subway rat the girl was holding. Ha! Like that could ever be me._

 _I squinted and looked at them for an amount of time that could be considered predatory if they weren't made of stone. They looked ecstatic or drugged heavily. I guess they were supposed to be happy they made a 2% return on their saving's account, or the drought was over or something. But, the thing that made me saddest was how the wife looked up at her husband as the kids played. She was proud of him, because he was someone to be proud of._

 _"I don't need a ride, I'm walking back to Ana," I said, standing still, but teetering with that goal in mind._

 _"You're walking where, sir?" Taylor asked. "Can you give me the coordinates?"_

 _"On the street," I said. "Home isn't too far." Though, at that point, kicking my ruby red slippers seemed a better plan than what I was doing._

 _"I can take you," the cabby said through his rolled down window. Who the hell is this asshole?_

 _"Why do you want to give me a ride so bad?"_

 _"Well, three things—you're stumbling drunk so you can't get home yourself; you're wearing a nice suit, so I know you got money to pay me; and Hector is looking to pick people up to throw in the drunk tank."_

 _"Who's Hector?" I asked._

 _"Tonight, your worst nightmare."_

 _He muttered something else, but I stopped paying attention as Taylor kept saying "sir, sir," on the line, which left a bad taste in my mouth after just seeing Elena, and then I didn't hear anything because I had dropped my phone and was leaning headfirst into a tree._

 _"Fine," I said, stumbling forward to pick up my Blackberry. "I'm okay Taylor," I said into it. "I'm getting into a... a... you know, the yellow thing that city people frequent... It looks like a bee, but it's vehicular."_

 _"A taxi?" Taylor asked._

 _"That's the one," I said. "And don't fucking tell Ana any of this!"_

 _"Okay, I won't." the cabby said._

 _"Not you, I meant Taylor!" I looked at him hard. "But, not you either!" I looked at him harder. "You better not know my wife!"_

 _"Mr. Grey, maybe I should meet you—" Taylor said. "Like before you see Mrs. Grey?"_

 _"I'm fine, I'll be home in seven minutes," I said. "Go back to sleep and don't come out of your room until the morning!" I hung up._

 _"Where to?" the cabby asked._

 _"Take me to Escala, not Esclava, I'm done with that bitch forever," I said, and after three or four tries I shut my door. He pulled away and I watched as that decrepit bar I had just met with Elena at disappeared into the fog of the night. Tomorrow, I vowed, I would buy it and have it burned to the ground._

 _"Is that your home?" the cabby asked. "That Escala place?"_

 _"No," I said. "It's_ _our_ _home, not mine!"_

 _"But we just met, I'm not sure I'm ready to move in." He laughed._

 _"Not you and me, me and my wife." Fucking comedian. "I just don't know if we are a we anymore because I'm an asshole and I'm going to have a baby." I buried my face in my hands, because I couldn't stand to see my reflection in the window glass anymore._

 _"Really? You aren't showing at all."_

 _"Not me. My wife. What, did you graduate from the Jerry Lewis school of cabbery?"_

 _"What's cabbery?"_

 _"Whatever the fuck you're doing."_

 _"When's she due?"_

 _"I don't know."_

 _"What?"_

 _"I mean, she just told me tonight. I think she could only be about four or fifteen weeks, unless the shot was just a placebo the whole goddamn time." I sighed. "Have we know each other fifteen weeks? Wait..." I tried to count back but I couldn't remember what month it was. "Maybe five weeks. On our honeymoon." We made a baby on our honeymoon... My thoughts drifted to how happy we were in the south of France._

 _"I take it you weren't out celebrating just now." The cabby interrupts my thoughts._

 _"No. I was drowning in sorrow that I smell like now." Disgusting. If I had been a scratch-and-sniff sticker I'd have been deadbeat father vomit._

 _"You don't want a kid?"_

 _"No," I shake my head. "I'd be a terrible father. Just like I'm a terrible husband. The only thing I'm good for is fucking." I shrugged. "I have a big dick."_

 _"Congratulations."_

 _"Thank you."_

 _He took a hard left and my head slammed against the glass, but I was too numb to feel it. And a part of me liked that my head was getting smashed in._

 _I needed to talk to someone other than that man of the night. I looked at my phone and found Flynn and texted him: Are you done with preschool? Because while you were missing I walked out on my wife, got drunk with Elena, and she tried to take me to her dungeon, and I told her to fuck herself forever and I'm having a baby. Call me._

 _"Is your wife happy about it?" the cabby asked._

 _"Ana?" I asked, her name always music to me, and he nodded. "Of course she is. She's a good person. She wouldn't turn away from her own child." My heart constricted—our child. "I promised her I'd take care of her forever, and look at me." I rubbed my eyes and then rested my forehead onto my steepled hands that were shakily propped on my knees. "Forever sure the fuck doesn't look like this."_

 _"I don't know. Sometimes this is exactly what forever looks like," he said. "Forevers aren't paved with smooth road."_

 _"Thank you Plato," I said, but that just got me thinking about Play-Doh and what an asshole father-to-be I was. If anyone in my family had known what I'd just done they would've disowned me. Elliot would try to act all high and mighty and kick my balls in. He'd been a slut for years, but he'd act like a saint._

 _I texted Elliot: Fuck off._

 _"You know drunk texting can get you into trouble," the cabby said as I nearly hit send on a text to Jose that read: Stay the fuck away from Ana forever or I'll string you up by your nutsack on the rear view mirror of your mother's mother's mother's latest Volkswagen scam._

 _Actually, I saved that one for a maybe later send._

 _"I got four kids," the cabby said._

 _"Oh my god." I banged my head back against the seat repeatedly. "You mean after one there's more?"_

 _"Yep. They're my life. I was scared at first, but it turned out to be the best thing that happened to me."_

 _"Everyone fucking says that! But see, the difference is that you and fucking everyone and their mother's brother's dental hygienist's toilet bowl cleaner are pretty much good people. I, on the other hand, am the devil." He laughed. I didn't._

 _"Okay," he says. "Why'd you go see your ex?"_

 _"I didn't. I was just walking and walking and after I tried to break into my psychiatrist's office, I ran into her in front of the beauty salon we own together."_

 _He eyed me in the rear view mirror like he might have to drop me at the looney bin to pick up the prescription I forgot to fill. Medication didn't seem a bad idea at that point. Yes, general anesthesia sounded nice—Ana!_

 _"She saw I was upset and then somehow we ended up at that bar..." I said, with venom. "She actually had the nerve to try and fuck me."_

 _"Geez. What did you do?"_

 _"I told her to get her fucking claws off me and never speak to me again." I looked out the window as the streetlight turned from red to green. "And then I told her Ana and I wanted kids..."_

 _"I thought you said you didn't."_

 _"Didn't what?"_

 _"Want kids."_

 _"Well, I don't. I mean, not now."_

 _"Then when?"_

 _"I don't know. Twenty, thirty years." I shrug. "There's just so much to be responsible for. Ten fingers and ten toes..."_

 _"You got a good job?"_

 _I snorted a laugh. "You could say that."_

 _"Benefits?"_

 _"I've got so many benefits they benefit from me."_

 _"You need a bigger home?"_

 _"No, I bought that. We'll be moved into our new estate by Christmas if the specially ordered Italian marble arrives in time. And they finish the glass wall Ana likes."_

 _Speaking of the wall... I texted Elliot again: Hurry up with the goddamn wall. Fucker._

 _"Okay... You afraid your marriage isn't good enough?" the cabby asked._

 _"No," I said, "I love her with all of my heart. I could never love anyone else. Life with Ana is...perfect."_

 _"Then, what's the issue?"_

 _"Haven't you been listening?"_

 _"Yeah, I have," he smiled as he pulled up to the curb in front of Escala."It'll be $8.50."_

 _"That's it? Not a word of advice after I spilled my fucked up soul to you?"_

 _"Yeah, I brought you here, now pay me and go inside."_

 _What the hell? I reached into my pocket, fumbled around a bit, and handed him a hundred dollar bill._

 _"It's only $8.50," he said._

 _"Yeah, but this was cheaper than my psychiatrist."_

 _"Hey" he said as I stumbled from the door, and I looked back at him. "I promise, when you have four, you'll think of me and smile."_

 _"Only if the mortician puts one on my face after I've shot myself."_

 _He laughed and in a blur he drove off, disappearing into the night, and I took a deep breath as I made my way inside._

"You were right, taxi driver," I say as I look down at number three and number four, still stirring in my wife's belly, and I smile.

"Christian, what are you doing?" Ana asks in a groggy voice, blinking her eyes up at me as she wakes.

"Just talking to our boys." I run my hand back and forth over her navel.

"Why are you on your knees?"she asks as she reaches over to brush my hair with her fingers.

"Because my cheek can't reach your belly any lower."

She laughs and I scoot up, wiggling in beside her as I kiss her cheek, her chin and her lips. "I'm asking their opinions on names."

She smiles that sleepy, happy morning smile of hers that lights all of my days. "What did they choose?"

"Not Heathcliff and Eugene," I say, shaking my head, and throwing it dramatically back into the pillow.

"Why? Those are nice names," she says, with a smirk.

"Well, so are The Hunchback and Don Juan, what's your point?"

"How about Dorian?" she asks and laughs. "Dorian Grey, like Dorian Gray, but spelled different."

"I get it. Hysterical." I prop up on my elbow and roll my eyes. She laughs again. I like making her laugh. Plus, it's so hot how her whole belly jiggles.

"Maybe we should do something cute, like all our boys could have T names," she says.

"Oh Ana, shoot me first."

"Why not?"

"Nothing cute and rhyming. It's so cliché. It'll give them a complex."

"Timothy and Thomas would give them a complex?"

"Yes, because it would be Timmy and Tommy the twinsies forever." I shake my head. "And besides, I don't want all our sons to have _T's_. Then our daughters will all have to be _P's_ and what's left after Penelope and Priscilla?"

"How many more are we talking?"

"I thought we agreed on eight and then we'd reassess."

"You're insane." She laughs again. Oh god, that giggle jiggle. My dick solidifies.

"Aren't you happy? You thought I didn't want any kids."

"I am happy. The happiest." She strokes her belly.

"I love you so much." I kiss her cheek. "And I love our children." My fingers spread across her belly. "I never knew I could."

"I always did." She places her hand over mine and we both delightedly feel a kick.

"Do you know the exact moment when I knew I loved you?" I ask. "I mean, I didn't know it then, but I definitely do now."

She shakes her head. "When?"

"Aside from the moment I first laid eyes on you, it was that first night I made love to you."

"So it was just the sex?"

"No, I had had plenty of sex." She raises a brow and I kiss it. "I mean, I know it sounds cliché, but now, looking back, that night felt like we were two puzzle pieces finally fitting together—figuratively and literally." We both laugh. "It was like this huge cloud of question that hung over my entire life finally had an answer." I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "And the only answer to me has ever been you."

She leans over and strokes my cheek and kisses me softly on the mouth.

"Do you know how fucking sexy you look right now," I say and brush her cheek with my lips, inhaling her scent.

"Oh yeah, irresistible." I can feel her rolling her eyes as I kiss her temple.

"Oh you are, Mrs. Grey." I take her hand and move it over my pajama covered groin. "Feel what you do to me." My erection stirs as her fingers wrap firm around it.

She gasps as I reach down and stroke her satin covered sex, her wetness seeping through.

"Do you want me to make you come, Ana?" I ask, nipping her ear as I slide first one, then two of my fingers under the elastic. I run them up and down her warm sex. She's dripping for me.

"Yes," she gasps as I stroke her clit, circling her sensitive bud until she starts to pant and quiver. Then, I slide both fingers inside of her.

"Does it feel good?" I breathe against her ear as I fuck her slowly with my fingers. Pleasuring her like this, in her state, is mind blowing.

"Yes, it feels incredible," she pants as I pump, curling my fingers to find her G-spot. Her breasts and her belly are heaving and jiggling. I have to recite the pledge of allegiance in my head so I don't bust a nut without even being touched. Damn, I'm going to miss her not being pregnant anymore.

"I want you," she pants and chomps her teeth on that meaty lip. "I need your cock to explode inside of me."

Hell.

"Oh baby," I say as I bring my mouth to hers and take that lip with my own teeth. I take the covers off of her and... Oh fuck. We need preparation. How do we do this? My dick is so hard all my thinking blood is flowing down there.

"We need pillows," I say to Ana as I grab a few and attempt to lift her and place them under her hips. But, her hips aren't budging this morning and even my workouts with Claude aren't helping me. I try to get over top of her, but I can't do it, even on all fours, I need her raised.

"Just do it from where you are," she says.

"Ana, I may have a big dick, but there's no way it'll reach from here to there," I say, practically in a downward dog on top of her.

"Slide me to the edge," she says. "Fuck me from standing." Easier said than done. Though, I like her saying fuck me.

"I don't want you to fall." I try to move her, but the fraction of an inch I accomplish makes me fear that any extra weight near the edge of the bed could be precarious. It's much easier arranging things when she's getting into the bed, as opposed to her already lying down.

"I need your dick," she says.

"And believe me, it needs you." This is the hottest and most frustrating thing I've ever experienced. Her pregnant, panting and wanting my cock, and me not being able to get it in."

"Wait," I say, "maybe if I lie on my side, horizontally beneath you." I do just that. "And if you put your leg over my shoulder." I lift it and place it at the base of my neck, although if she clamps down in orgasm I just may be choked to death. It's a risk I'm willing to take.

"Christian," Ana cries out as I pull down my pjs, finally freeing my erection and though the angle I'm at has my head halfway off the bed and I'm struggling to hold on, I take hold of my erection, slide her panties away and plunge myself into the depths of her.

"Oh Christian!" she cries out. I thrust in and out of her. Oh, she feels so fucking good, even with my balls slapping sideways into the mattress.

"Harder," she pants and I pound her as well as I can, which sets her off into an orgasm of epic proportions. She calls out my name again as she comes undone, twisting the sheets beneath her with her fingers. It's enough to drive me fucking insane. With all my power, I thrust one more time, spilling my seed into her almost ready to harvest body.

Fucking incredible.

I pull out, forgetting how close to the edge of the bed I am, and as I collapse into a mushy heap of post orgasmic bliss, I fall splat onto the floor.

#######

"Daddy, why do you have a boo-boo band-aid on your head?" Phoebe asks as we sit as a family eating breakfast at our kitchen nook.

"I slipped and hit it." Actually, I _hit it_ and slipped. Unfortunately the only bandages left were The Little Mermaid ones and I'll be wearing that loudmouth Caribbean crab on my face all day. I'll have to have Taylor pick up the clear ones. But damn, it was all worth it.

I'm distracted again. But, this time it's because my wife is eating her favorite cheesy bacon hash browns. Lord, the way she slurps that cheddar into her mouth, sucking the starch off the tip of her fork, while the grease drips off that swelled bottom lip. My wife pregnant and eating grease should be illegal.

"It's almost the Fourth of July," Ana says and watching those lips move has explosions going off in my pants.

"Oh yes, what do you want to do? A day on the boat? Fireworks? Anything you want I'll make happen as long as it's close to the hospital and doesn't stress you out."

"Well, I was talking with Miss Tilly about it yesterday..."

Oh hell.

"She thought it would be a fun idea—" Ana says.

"Of course she did," I say.

"I didn't tell you the idea."

"Let me take a wild guess, she wants to put on a show?"

"Yes," Ana says. "A show that will make American history fun for the kids."

"But, the kids aren't even in school now," I say.

"No, we're in camp," Teddy says. "Which is better 'cause you see all your friends, play a bunch of games and you don't gotta think like in the real year."

"Well, you better be thinking about cars when you're anywhere near the street," I say.

"We don't go to the street," he says.

"Yeah, we'd have to go down so many streets to get to the street," Phoebe says. "And then it would be even more far than that."

"Well, it's still close enough to think about," I say. At least I can take comfort in the fact that they'll never cross a street without security detail.

"Yes," Ana smiles. "The show is part of their camp program." I knew Tilly was up to something when she announced that bogus camp the kids are signed up for—Kreative Kidz Summer Artz and Kraftz Camp. This whole thing is supposed to be a creativity driven vacation program to expand their minds with artistic endeavors while academics are at bay, but I think it's really an excuse to expand the school's pocket book. I mean, should it really cost ten grand for my kids to read Dr. Seuss books out loud to each other and splatter poster board with paint? Now, I see it's less about dollars and more about Tilly's nonsense.

"Miss Tilly wrote a play," Teddy says, putting a heap of strawberry jam on his toast, and of course he smears it with his fingers to make sure it sticks good.

"Did she?" I ask.

"She said some boy named Tony is gonna give it prizes from where people care about that stuff," Teddy says.

"And I'm gonna play Paul Rears," Phoebe says. "And I get to ride on a horsey and put feathers in my head and yell out "macaronis and cheeses"." Speaking of cheeses, Chester—who's sitting on her shoulder in his purple polka-dot bathrobe—has got two chipmunk cheek mouthfuls of those hash browns. He's more of a pig than his girlfriend, Henrietta, who's actually a pig.

I turn to Ana. "What are they talking about?"

Ana giggles, causing her big beautiful baby filled belly to jiggle again. Oh hell, the giggle jiggle is so hot.

"Paul Revere and the Tony awards," Ana says.

"Let me rephrase the question. What are they talking about?"

"It's a patriotic show for Fourth of July."

"And I get to play the guy that tells time for all of America," Teddy says.

"Who?"

"A minute man," Ana says and there's more giggle jiggle. Hell, who'd have known pregnant laughter would get me so turned on?

"And if we didn't win against the London people," he continues on, loading more jam onto the toast. "We'd all drink tea now."

"Perhaps your mother is a spy," I look down at her weak, black cup of Twinings English Breakfast and she laughs.

"It's really going to be cute," Ana says.

"Let me guess, I'm George Washington." I roll my eyes. And Tilly will be Martha and I'll have to spend all my time telling lies and chopping down cherry trees just to block her path so I can get to safety in the war.

"She said she'd give us the script today when we pick the kids up, so we can plan accordingly."

"Plan accordingly for what?"

"Daddy look, I got fat tater fingers," Phoebe says, holding up a hand that has five blobs of cheesy hash browns on the ends, that are remarkably the spitting image of Tilly's.

"Kids, both of you stop playing with your food and eat it," I say.

"I'm not playing, I'm getting it ready," Teddy says and pushes the whole front end of the bread, jam first, into his face.

"Phoebe, Teddy, you're a mess, why don't you go have Mrs. Taylor help you wash up and then we'll help you get ready for camp," Ana says. "She's in the family room."

"Dad, you gotta help me shave my whiskers for school. I can't have Mrs. Taylor see that!" He checks his face every morning when I shave, so I gave him a blade-less razor he pretends with, and we do it together.

"I'll be up in a minute. You better soap up your face a few times first or you'll have a beard of ants as soon as you walk outside."

Phoebe and Teddy race each other out the door, of course touching everything in their path with sticky, messy fingers.

"Slow down! Those floors were just waxed!" I yell, but they continue on. I listen for a moment to make sure that four running feet make it down the hall without any skids or scrapes. Soon enough I'll be listening to a stampede.

"Okay, lay it on me," I say, turning my attention back to Ana. I lift her feet to my lap, take off her shoes and begin to rub them.

"What do you mean?" she asks as she leans back and closes her eyes to enjoy.

"What's this show entail?"

"It's just a patriotic celebration for the kids."

"Okay, that's the company line, but you're alone with me. Tell me, what I'm supposed to do."

"I don't know, really. She said a couple of the dads are getting involved."

"Which dads? She's already asked them?" She hasn't asked me yet? This better not turn into that Easter bunny shit again. Didn't they learn their lesson?—I'm not involved and you end up with criminals.

"She said they were planning sets and stuff. Some of the moms are doing costumes and Gail volunteered. Taylor's playing a part, too."

"Taylor knows about this and didn't tell me?" I feel so betrayed.

"Gail volunteered him," she says and I breathe a sigh of relief. "I think the Tidwilers want to host it."

"The Tidwilers? You mean that clown Bo with that chip off the old blockhead BoBo?" Honestly, he thought instead of Bo Junior that would be a better alternative. What does he think, he's a fucking Kennedy and his kid's JohnJohn?

"Yes, they're a lovely family," she says giving me the stink eye for criticizing the community again. How can I not criticize? Everyone out there is an idiot.

"What do they know about hosting these things? Do they have security? Is their house up to safety standards? Are they clean?"

"Well, I didn't get that far," Ana laughs.

"Why have you kept this a secret from me for a whole day?"

"You distracted me last night, Mr. Grey."

"That's right. I did," I deliciously recall

"And this morning..." she says and I smile, even as my head throbs beneath Sebastian.

"Are these Tidwiler people easily accessible to a hospital?" I ask.

"They live eight blocks down from us." She shakes her head and rolls those pretty eyes. "The drive is probably quicker."

"That doesn't mean anything. I have a helicopter." Ana let's out a satisfied moan as I rub. "Why are so many dads involved? It sounds a bit too pervert-mob to me, Ana."

"What? They're fathers helping out. Like you."

"No, they're not like me, Ana. Trust me, I've seen all their personal records and more than one of them includes buried evidence of reservations at Motel 6 that give a whole new meaning to _we'll leave the light on."_

"I don't even know what you're saying." Ana shakes her head. "Bo is a nice man, who just so happens to be known for putting on the best fireworks shows in the area."

"That's exactly what the Motel 6 said in their complaints section. The show he put on was in front of an open window and called Internet Girlfriend."

"He sets off fireworks. In his yard. He's an expert."

"I don't care if Benjamin Franklin himself explodes in technicolor over the constitution, I'm not comfortable being at someone else's place—namely the house of the living Bo's—with you looking like this." I clench a fist thinking about that man ogling my wife while setting off explosives.

"I'm about to pop with twins."

"Exactly."

She sighs. "Well, you can ask Tilly all those questions this afternoon." She suddenly throws her head back and orgasmically moans when I hit that special place. Leave it to me to find the G-spot of her foot.

"You like that?" I ask, as she comes down from her foot-gasm.

You know what those foot rubs do to me, Mr. Grey," she says and bites a lip still dotted with a sheen of hash brown grease.

"Yes, I do, Mrs. Grey. Maybe we can sneak off for a shower. I want you good and dirty before I wash you clean."

She smiles and I remove her feet from my lap and set them on the ground.

"Actually, I don't think I'll be having a shower with you at all this morning."

"Why not?" I'm alarmed as she scrunches her nose.

"I don't know if I can get up from my seat."

 ** _The Babies are coming!_**


	16. Chapter 16

_**Thank you everyone for your patience! I've been updating my Darker story, so that's the reason for the delay on this. I've had a request for a surprise triplet from a wonderful reader. Any thoughts? And, as always, I so appreciate your devotion to my stories! More of this and Darker soon! xox**_

"Who the heck is William Whipple?" I ask Tilly, as Ana and I stand in the lobby at the school waiting for the kids to finish with all eighteen verses of the _Teddy Bears Picnic_ in the caddy corner classroom. Right now, as we talk to the real beast of the wild, I'm identifying with the line from the song about it being safer to stay at home. It's times like these I wish Taylor carried tranquilizer darts. Wait, maybe he does...

"The role you'll be playing in the Fourth of July show, Mr. Grey," Tilly says.

"I thought I was playing a major character."

Tilly steps back like I've offended her on some level, which delights me greatly.

"William Whipple Jr. was one of our country's most patriotic citizens," Tilly says, chest puffed and resembling a mountain mid avalanche, as she hands me a script she's had tucked under her armpit. I cringe as I take it. I would refuse, as I don't know quite what's transpired—or rather perspired—in that land down under, but I promised Ana I'd be nice. And when your nearly due with twins and hot as all hell wife tells you to do something, you do it, or you won't get that ass later.

"What's this?" I ask, looking down at the script. She may as well have handed me a brick. This thing rivals _War and Peace._

"Everyone's heard of _Hamilton_ ," Tilly says and looks out, her hands framed in the air as if she's seeing a vision through them. "Well, this is _Whipple_."

Oh my god.

"You mean like the Broadway musical?" Ana asks.

"Even better!" Tilly says. "There is so much more to Whipple than anyone ever knew."

"That's because no one knows anything about him at all," I say and Ana looks up at me like I better shut it. Oh right, like she's heard of him. But, then I remember that ass...

"In addition to being a visionary, a true leader, and a revolutionary voice in the perilous times of our budding nation," Tilly says. "He signed the Declaration of Independence."

"He did?" I ask.

"Yes, he most certainly did." She's so adamant about all this, it's like she's enlisting members for a cultish offshoot of The Daughters of the American Revolution, and I'm the sacrificial prodigal son. "And he just so happens to be my family."

Oh, good lord.

"Really?" Ana asks. "That's fascinating."

"Yeah, a real mind bender," I mutter and Ana gives me a swift, though concealed nudge to the ribs. God, her breasts jiggle so beautifully when she does that, cupped perfectly in her lacy scoop-necked bolder holder. I almost want to piss her off so she'll do it again. And I realize it's a fine line I'm walking for ass later and jiggle now.

"How are you related?" Ana asks. Oh, Tilly's probably making this shit up. But seriously, who brags about sharing blood with the fiftieth person to sign the thing? Sure, you don't shoot for unbelievable levels like Thomas Jefferson or Ben Franklin, but at least if you're going to shove patriotic moonbeams up our asses, tell us you're the shirttail relative of John Hancock or something.

"He was my mother's father's brother's father's father's father's great uncle's second cousin twice removed," she says.

"So, wait a minute...if your mother had been a boy, you'd be named Tilly Whipple?" I ask, and Ana nudges my ribs again. I give her a look—what? It's a serious question. Then, I look down to enjoy the jiggle. And with the size of her tits these days we've got fault line level aftershocks.

"Yes," Tilly says, as if lamenting what could have been.

"Forgive me for not being a steward of American revolutionary wartime history," I say. "But, the whole Fourth of July production is about this guy? What exactly did he do that deserves an entire musical?"

"You have to read! It's so juicy," she says in a low and guttural tone, and I envision this is what she whispers to a pork shoulder before taking it down. "You know, I majored in musical theatre in college."

"You wrote this thing yourself?" I ask and she nods. Oh right, I should've recognized the smudged chocolate thumbprint over the title. Like Prince, the symbol is enough to identify. "I thought you majored in education." I knew this hippie school was a sham.

"Double major," she says. "Everyone thought I should go to Broadway, but my mother had angina." She shrugs. "I also acted. I played Miss Hannigan in _Annie_ at the Tacoma Community Playhouse two seasons running."

"Imagine that," I mutter.

"Well, I can't wait to read it," Ana says, giving her a smile. Why is Ana so nice to this she-wolf in Big Foot's clothing? Sure, she teaches our kids, but she practically tries to hump my leg every time she sees me. Speaking of which...

"Let me take a wild guess," I say. "Whipple has a wife."

"Catherine Moffatt Whipple," Tilly says, beaming. "That's my middle name."

"Catherine?" Ana asks.

"Moffatt," she says. This just gets better and better.

"Let me take another even wilder guess," I say. "You'll be playing her."

"They had a love story for the ages," she says, and I think she attempted a wink my way, but her spider lashes got hooked on each other and now she's picking her eye. Probably something like that occurs every time she crosses her legs, as well.

"What about the Tidwilers?" I ask. "Why are they hosting this thing? Shouldn't we have it here at the school?"

"They have a lovely property and they do up the Fourth every year. It's really their holiday."

"What do you mean their holiday? Every holiday is my holiday!"

All of a sudden the teddy bears song stops and there's a collective eww coming from the classroom.

The janitor waves and whistles Tilly down. "Clean up on aisle Pugh!"

"Excuse me," Tilly says. "We'll talk later. I think Arthur Pugh wet his overalls again." She takes off frantically.

"Ana, this is insane," I say, holding the script up. "Look at this thing. This isn't a script, this is a semester at college. Clown college, but still."

"Maybe it's interesting."

"Tilly wrote it. It's not interesting. It's bullshit. She has no credible relatives and certainly no one in history that did anything."

"Christian, calm down—"

"And what about Tidwiler? I don't like the idea of you almost due and frolicking around a foreign land."

"Foreign land? You mean someone else's house?"

"What if you get lost going to the bathroom, suddenly go into labor, and then you can't find your way back out to us. There's no way in hell my sons will be born in another man's loo. "

"That hardly seems possible, as you have a team of security follow me even to my own bathroom."

The teddy bears start up again, so I guess Arthur got cleaned up.

"Grey!" a man calls out to me from down the hall and I immediately step in front of Ana, fearing attack. Oh, for fuck's sake, it's just Teddy's best friend Fritzy's father, Haskell Fritzwater. He thinks because our kids are friends we should be. What an idiot. Little Fritzy's full name is Harold Haskell Fritzwater—I know from his dossier—and they shortened it to that ridiculous moniker. There's always been something weird about this father Fritz, aside from his weirdness. Welch looked into deep corners with him, but found nothing but high cholesterol and Internet girlfriends. But still, a man who wears orange sneakers and a painter's hat on a daily basis needs to be watched with a close eye.

"Haskell," I nod, putting my arm securely around Ana to encourage him to back the fuck off and also so he won't shake my hand.

"Hey Ana," he leans in to greet her, not getting the hint as he holds his paw out for a shake.

"She's pregnant. Germs," I say, swatting him away. He backs off, playfully holding his hands up in surrender. I swear if his eyes go to her tits, my foot goes to his nuts. "Did you hear the good news?"

"You got a new job, you're moving to another state and we'll be pressed to see you again?"

He laughs like I'm joking. He always thinks I am.

"No, I'm Benjamin Franklin!" He pulls out these little wire glasses from his front shirt pocket and puts them on.

Oh god, I was right about the shoes and hat. He's completely lost it.

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"In the show!" he says.

Oh. Oh!

"You're Benjamin Franklin?!"

"Yeah, and I heard Elliot got the big TJ!" If you would've told me that less than a decade ago I'd say I wasn't surprised, hand my brother a package of condoms and refer him to the clinic for antibiotics. "Thomas Jefferson, that is!"

"Elliot's playing Thomas Jefferson?" I'm fuming.

"Christian, you have the lead, remember," Ana says.

"I'm playing Whipple. That's not a lead, that's a toilet paper salesman."

"The dads are getting together at Tidwiler's to build the big set if you want to lend your muscle," Haskell says.

"What's the big set?" I ask

"You know. The big boat," Haskell says.

"A big boat for what?"

"To throw all the tea off of."

"They're building an actual boat at the Tidwilers?"

"Yeah. It's gonna be much better than the paper one we always use. We won't have to squat the whole time so our faces line up with the portholes right."

"Well, I didn't ever have to worry about that, because I was always the one sailing the ship!" I say and Ana brushes my arm in an attempt to calm me down. Not working.

"They also have a big stage area and a place to set off the fireworks out in the yard," Haskell says.

"Tidwiler actually shoots professional fireworks off his lawn?" I ask.

"Last year was unreal!" Haskell says, laughing. "Why weren't you there?"

"I didn't want to be," I say.

"We were in Georgia, with my mom," Ana says, in an attempt to cover my perceived rudeness.

"It was off the hook. Never saw anything like it in my life." Which isn't saying much. "He says this year is going to be even better!"

"I can hardly wait," I grumble.

The bell rings and the teddy bears picnic ends abruptly. And as a sea of kids pours out of the classroom, I'm left with an ill feeling in my gut about a makeshift ship, a nearly due wife and explosives in another man's yard.

#######

"Taylor, what do you know about William Whipple?" I ask after Ana and the kids are secured in the back of the SUV.

"I'm not sure. Is he a new father at the school, sir?"

"No, he's some revolutionary war figure in the show we're doing at Bo Tidwiler's place." Taylor gives me an odd look. "For the school, Taylor." Jesus, it's not like he hasn't seen me do enough of these things.

"Oh yes, I think Gail said I was playing a tree again."

"A tree?"

"The cherry tree, sir. The one Washington chops down."

"What the hell? They have talking trees in this thing?"

"I don't think I talk, Mr. Grey. I think I'm just playing a tree, realistically." He was quite good in the Thanksgiving show. Playing wooden really is his specialty.

"Wonderful, now find out about Whipple!" I say. "Oh, and get Welch to run a background check."

"On Whipple?"

"On Tidwiler!"

"We have in the past, sir."

"I mean more in depth! I want to know everything about this idiot. What he eats for breakfast, how he ties his shoes, what times he takes a shit... I want a map of his home with bathrooms clearly marked. And most importantly I want to know how this guy celebrates the Fourth of July."

"Okay, sir." Why is he looking at me like I'm the reason for the holes in Swiss cheese?

"Oh, and Taylor..."

"Yes, Mr. Grey?"

"Could you and Gail watch the children later? I've got something special planned for me and Mrs. Grey tonight. And tell Gail to double up on towels in the master bath." Scrub a dub dub, indeed.

He nods and that ass is on my mind all the way to Ana's doctor's appointment.

#######

"Daddy, which dwarf is your mostest favorite?" Phoebe asks me as she sits on my lap—repeatedly kicking her heels into my shins as she swings them back and forth— in the cramped waiting room of Dr. Greene's office. Ana thought it would be an educational experience for the kids to see the babies on the ultrasound. And, I thought it sounded like a good idea at the time, but after forty-seven minutes of the same infomercial for birth control—ironically the one Ana took—playing on a loop, a Muzak version of the Titanic soundtrack blaring out a speaker just northeast of my head and so many games of eye spy I can't see anything anymore, I'm thinking that it wasn't.

"Which dwarf?" I ask and Phoebe nods—and kicks.

"Snow White and her seven little mens," she says. I think I saw a porno with that title once.

"Well," I say. "I have to think about that." Which dwarf... Happy is nice, though his perpetually jovial nature says he's simple minded, hiding something, or high on drugs. No, that's Dopey. That guy is a disgrace. Always laughing mindlessly, eyes rolling around, slopping all over creation and falling out of his clothes. He reminds me of Elliot—or Kavanagh. They really are one in the same. Then there's Bashful, with his fluttering lashes, and his blushing cheeks, and the way he dips his eyes. I can't even watch him; he reminds me of Issac, that submissive of Elena's.

"I like Sneezy!" Teddy says from the floor as he crashes flying dinosaurs into unwitting cars on a highway made of lined up women's magazines. Some indeterminable Kardashian has tire tracks and brontosaurus ass skid marks all across her face.

"Why do you like Sneezy?" I ask.

"'Cause he's always got a reason to not go to school."

"You had a chance to not go to school this summer, and you begged me to sign you up for that camp."

"That's 'cause I didn't got to go. If I had to go I wouldn't want to go no more." Crash. Explode. Another Ferrari bites the dust. "Plus, all we do is eat snacks and fart around and sing funny songs." Great, that's what my $10,000 a kid went for.

"Grumpy is my favoritest," Phoebe says.

"Why do you like Grumpy?" I ask.

"'Cause he's like you, Daddy."

Ana giggles next to us as she reads a magazine article about Martha Stewart's favorite way to fold sheets. Why is Ana reading that housework shit? We have a staff for that! I swear, if I catch her folding sheets we're going to have a real problem.

"You think I'm grumpy?" I ask Phoebe.

"Yeah," she giggles, just like her mother, and then turns herself around in my lap—kneeing me in the balls and gut while doing so—and uses her fingers to manually turn my frown upside down. "'Cause, Grumpy just likes to make like he's got a rain cloud mood, but when Snow White kisses his cheek everybody sees he's really all made of mush like you are with Mommy."

"You think I'm all made of mush, do you?"

Phoebe nods and I look to Ana who smiles up at me. I'm lost for a moment in her blue, blue eyes. Phoebe's right, I am a mush-made man.

"I like Doc," I say. "He was motivated to leave the mine and get a good education."

"But, he's still in the mine," Teddy says. Damn, he's right. Odd. Why didn't Doc leave the mine?

"Yeah," Phoebe says. "And why can't Doc make Sneezy all well if he's a doctor?" Geez, these really are deep questions.

"Because he'd have to change his name if he got better and it's already carved into his bed," Teddy says. What a terrible story, having a character only identified by his medical condition, emotional state or questionable profession. That's like if I went around and called Elliot "Man Whore", or Kavanagh "Snarktress", or the photographer "the photographer" all the time.

"Yay, I know! Doc Happy!" Phoebe calls out, throwing her arms in the air in victory.

"What does that mean?" I ask.

"My brother's name! My one could be Doc Happy."

Oh no, the names.

"You have to save your choices for the family meeting, remember," Ana says. Good save. Hopefully Phoebe will forget it by then. Doc Happy sounds like a medical marijuana vendor.

"How long do we gotta wait out here?" Teddy asks, obviously tired of his reptilian overthrow of the highway paved with reality stars. "It's so hot and it smells like all of the feet in the world came here for a Stink Scouts meeting." Whatever that is. It actually sounds like something he'd want to join.

"Yeah, I feel like I waited all of my life already," Phoebe says.

"Yours and mine both," I say.

"Oooh," Ana grunts and clutches her stomach.

"What is it, baby?" I take her other hand. "What's wrong?"

"Braxton Hicks," she says.

"Ana, you can't be sure about that," I say.

"Yes, I am. It's okay."

"No, it's not okay." I set Phoebe down to standing and get up.

"Christian, don't make a scene," Ana whispers.

"When do I ever make a scene?" I ask, already making a scene, as all the women are staring at me. Why aren't any other men ever at the OBGYN? Ana gives me a warning look, but before she can say anymore, I rush forward to speak with the wicked gate keeper up front—Nurse Doreen.

"My boyfriend and I have been together for like three months, so we're super serious..." some college-aged girl—whose father should be alerted to all of this so he can call the convent—stands in front of me asking Doreen about that birth control infomercial. "Are there any side effects?"

"My wife and I were super serious at three months with it. You want to see a side effect." I nod back to Ana as the kids run in a circle around her. The girl takes one look and practically bolts for the door.

"Yes?" Nurse Doreen says, all pissy, as she looks up at me from her seat of dictatorial authority. I'd say I saw stars when I saw her, but that's just because I was blinded by that frosted shadow she's wearing that makes her eyes look like the Big Dipper shit on them.

"We have been waiting—" I say.

"As you can see, so have the rest of the patients."

"As you can see, you have a new wing to this office thanks to me and my wife and our endless little dividends."

The little dividends are now chucking dinosaurs at each other and coming up with new words for fart. Booty Tootie Air Doodie is my personal favorite.

"She's next, Mr. Grey," she says, flippantly, going back to putting stickers on her files. What do all those colored stripes mean? It's pissed me off for years now. Numbers and letters, pink and blue and neon yellow. Probably code to the other nurses of who to fuck over the most on the next appointment. There's probably a special color for me. I scan for gray.

"You said that twenty-three minutes ago."

"Dr. Greene had an unforeseen situation to handle." Yeah, more like she worked five minutes and it was time for her to chug an iced latte and count her money.

"My wife is having contractions," I whisper, so Ana won't hear and try and stop me.

"Really?" She scrunches her nose. "You didn't notify us of this before."

"That's because they just started."

"How far apart?"

"Close enough."

"Did you hit your head?"

"What?" I'm pretty pissed she's insulting my intelligence and sanity, until she points to my Little Mermaid bandage on my forehead. Oh fuck, Sebastian is still up there from this morning. When and where did Disney characters overtake my life? "Yeah, I fell into a door."

"A door?"

"Forget my injury! My wife needs to see the doctor! Where is she?"

"I told you, she had a meeting."

"I thought you said she had a situation?"

"What's the difference?"

"Situation and meeting are two completely different things. A situation arises, a meeting is planned." Except when my situation arises and I show up at Ana's office for midday sex and call for a meeting.

"Mr. Grey—"

"My wife is having twins and now she's experiencing contractions. If you don't want them birthed on your heirloom seventies shag carpet out here, I'd suggest you'd get the doctor immediately!"

"Mr. Grey, if you're crying wolf—"

I lean in. "I don't have to cry wolf, I am the wolf."

"I'll get Dr. Greene," she says, and she looks fearful of me now, but more due to the fact I may be mentally unhinged, rather than powerfully intimidating. I don't care. Whatever gets the job done for my family.

"My mommy is having two brothers, and I was so sad for no girls, but Daddy promised to do all the work he could to make Mommy have a baby sister fast," Phoebe says to an elderly woman she just walked up to on the other side of the room to have this conversation with.

"Phoebe!" I lift her up. "Excuse us," I say to the woman and she looks at me and gives me a wink and a nod. Oh god. That was weird. Was she flirting, or encouraging me to fuck my wife? I whisk Phoebe away before it gets even weirder.

"How do you make Mommy have my baby sister fast, Daddy?" Phoebe asks.

"I put a special call in to the golden fairy and arrange it with the stork to pluck a girl cabbage out of the patch."

"I knew it!" she says.

"What were you whispering about over there all that time?" Ana asks with a raised brow when we return to her.

"They needed our updated insurance information." Oh right, Grey. Like she believes you were arguing over co-pays.

Thankfully, before I have to answer Ana's suspicious squint, that old dowager nurse opens the door and squawks out, "Grey." Hell, it's like Igor just called Frankenstein home for supper.

The kids squeal and run ahead, and I move to help Ana up from her seat.

"Okay baby, take my hands." She grabs them and I get in position. Claude and I have tried to perfect this move in my training sessions, though lifting Ana is far different than sandbags. "Okay, feet flat on the floor and I'm going to pull. You don't have to do a thing."

On three, I pull, but nothing.

"Okay, do a little something." Another count of three and this time I pull with all my might and she flies at me. With sheer will and Claude honed muscle I'm able to steady her before I misstep and crash back into the door.

"Twice in one day, Mr. Grey?" Doreen asks, shaking her head at me. What the hell? Oh right, the door. "I'm sure pediatrics can get you a matching bandage."

"Christian, are you okay?" Ana asks.

"I'm fine." I work myself upright and take Ana's hand, ushering her past Doreen and into the hallway. And though my head is okay, I think I need another Sebastian bandage for my tailbone.

"Mrs. Grey," Dr. Greene says, rushing up to us in the hallway. "You're having contractions?"

"No, they're just Braxton Hicks, I'm sure." Ana says and then in unison she and Dr. Greene give me a look.

"They're still contractions!" I say.

"Dr. Greene shakes her head. "Let's get you in exam room two, Mrs. Grey."

#######

"I remember when you were first in your Mommy's tummy," Dr. Greene says, shaking Teddy's hand, as we stand in the exam room. Ana's already propped and lying on the table. As I hold her hand, I can't help but think about those days, too. Our first baby. I'm so proud of him, the way he holds himself and how polite he is. How happy he gets when he talks about science and bugs and baseball. He's fearless and good, and that's a combination that can really do things in this world. I'd say he reminds me of myself at that age, but he doesn't. He's him, and that's so much better than me.

"I bet I was super small," Teddy says.

"Just a little blip," I say and squeeze Ana's hand. She smiles up at me, a tear falling from the corner of her eye that I wipe with the pad of my thumb and then bring to my lips to kiss.

"And you," Dr. Greene says as she looks down to Phoebe, who's donning her pink diamond tiara, a pretty floral summer dress with a light cream sweater, and the dirtiest green galoshes. I asked her this morning why she was wearing them and she said she had to walk through the mud and puddles at recess on a search-and-rescue mission to make sure no ladybugs or butterflies were drowning from the morning's storm, and that she didn't want to get her red bottomed sandals all "dirted up." My sweet princess.

"I remember telling your father he was having a little girl," Dr. Greene says. Phoebe giggles and I smile. I remember, too...

" _Ana, I don't know if I'll be any good at this," I said, pacing the floor of our bedroom the night we got the news. I had also paced the floors of my study for hours earlier that evening looking at the ultrasound picture as I pretended to work late. I studied her face and her hands. Her little fist was tiny, clenched up into the tightest ball beneath her chin, and she looked like she was smiling. As if she was determined to come out and take on the world and have the best time doing it. I knew I was in trouble._

 _"You're a wonderful father to Teddy," Ana said, curled up so cute and sweet in our bed and running her hand along her swollen belly as she read a book on nursing—the baby feeding methodology, not the profession._

 _"Yes, but he's a boy. I know boys. I may have been completely fucked up as a kid, but I still know how to throw a ball and race cars. I don't know anything about girls." I sighed. As much as I loved Mia, I never played Barbies._

 _"How do you know she won't want to play ball and race cars?"_

 _"You know what I mean." I sat down on the bed and picked at the lint on my pajama pants. "I don't know the first thing about dolls and dresses and ballet recitals."_

 _"Christian, it'll be fine."_

 _"How do you know?"_

 _"Because I always have before." She leaned over and brushed the side of my head with her fingers. "And I especially do now."_

 _"She'll be so fragile... what if I can't protect her?"_

 _"Judging by her kicks, I think she'll do pretty good at protecting herself." She smiles. "Plus, I'm pretty sure you're already getting a security team together." Already done._

 _"Ana," I turned to face her to ask the real question rooted in my heart and weighing on me. "How could a man like me possibly be any good for a little girl?"_

 _"Because he's the same man who's good for me and good for his son, and who didn't think any of that was possible before."_

 _I smiled, because it was true. Before Ana..._

 _"I'm going to make a prediction about our daughter," Ana said as she wrapped her arms around my neck and rested her chin on my shoulder. "By the first second you hold her she'll be wrapped around your little finger and she'll lead the way from then on."_

 _"A girl giving me orders?" I raise a brow and smile when she nods. "Well, I know one thing for sure. I'll leave it to you to play all that princess stuff."_

"Daddy, lift me so I could see my brothers," Phoebe orders me, stealing me from memory. I let go of Ana's hand and pull her into my lap as we settle on a stool. Her tiara is crooked, so I straighten the sparkling pink crown and then kiss her hair. And as I hold her now all I can think about was the first second I held her then and how right Ana was. And also, how damn good I am at all the princess stuff.

"Now, do you want to see your brothers?" Dr. Greene asks and the kids cheer like they're about to see the Beatles on Sullivan.

"Do we get popcorn?" Teddy asks.

"I want strawberry jellybeans and Lem-a-Lem's!" Phoebe says. Her name for M&M's. When she asked for them the first time, I thought she meant Lemonheads. Boy, did I get the talking to.

"No, it's not a movie," I say.

"How do you take pictures of them when they're in Mommy?" Teddy asks Dr. Greene as I take hold of Ana's hand again, playing with her new ring. Eight carats feels good on her finger, though not as good as ten would...

"Well, I have this little wand," Dr. Greene says. "And it can magically see beneath all the muscle and skin."

"Is it like _Ghostbuster's_ stuff?" he asks. Elliott's been watching movies with him again and he's been singing the song all week. If he asks me one more time who I'm gonna call, I'm telling him the quiet time police.

"Sort of," Dr. Greene says. She's so personable and friendly with the kids today. If I could stand her I may actually like her.

"Eww," Phoebe says as Dr. Greene squirts the jelly stuff on Ana's stomach.

"Cool!" Teddy says. "It's like the slime!"

The screen pops on as Dr. Greene moves her wand and the babies suddenly appear. My sons—our sons—moving around in their mother. They have no idea yet, or maybe they really do, that they have the best mother on earth.

"They are aliens!" Teddy says and Phoebe shrieks. "Those are like the hoses that are hooked up to their planet's food."

"They're not aliens, they're your brothers," I say. "And although your mother is out of this world, she's not a planet." I look down to a smiling Ana and wink.

"Those are umbilical chords connecting them to your mother's source of nutrients for them," Dr. Greene says.

"Eww, they eat through their bellies?" Phoebe asks.

"Yeah, that's where you get your belly button from, Fritzy said," Teddy says and lifts up his shirt and sticks out his own belly for demonstration. "It's where your teeth used to be before the doctor zapped them and put them on your face." He clamps down on his belly button repeatedly like it was a chomping jaw.

"That's what Fritzy said, huh?" I ask and he nods. Typical. Haskell probably told him that shit.

"He's waving at me!" Phoebe says, pointing to a hand that one of the babies is holding up.

"I think you're right," Ana says. "Let's wave back." And we all do. Somehow this feels like clapping in your living room at the end of a TV show and expecting the actors to take a bow.

"Do they get hot in there?" Teddy asks.

"No, the amniotic fluid keeps everything comfortable for them," Dr. Greene says.

"What's that?" he asks.

"It's sort of like the water they float around in," I say, for lack of a better small child explanation.

"How do they breath in water?" Phoebe asks.

"They don't breathe like we do until they're born," Dr. Greene says.

"You mean my brothers is fish until they come out into the air?" Phoebe asks.

"Cool!" Teddy says. "Was I a fish, too?"

"I didn't think fish had teeth," Phoebe says. "And I never saw one who would eat with its belly."

"They're not fish!" I say. "It's just how babies grow in there."

"Well, I'd say these are two good looking boys," Dr. Greene says. "Are you kids excited about having new baby brothers soon?"

"Yeah, I already made them sparkle headbands," Phoebe says. "Chester's got one, too."

"Well, I'll get you two pictures of your brothers," Dr. Greene says. "I heard you talking about candy before. Why don't you both go run ahead and get suckers from Nurse Doreen up front while I talk to your mom and dad about something important." They squeal and take off, racing each other out the door.

"What's wrong?" I ask, standing. "Why do you need to speak to us alone?" Ana squeezes my hand.

"Well, I didn't think you'd want this talked about in front of the children?" Dr. Greene says. "With the positioning of the babies now..."

"Oh my god," Ana says, and I hold tight to her hand.

"And especially with twins, you know I want them in there as long as possible," she says. "So..." She looks at me.

"Just tell us!" I try and brace us both for the worst.

"No more sex."

"What?" I ask.

"With multiples I would not advise it at this point in the pregnancy."

"We're not into multiples, we're completely monogamous," I say.

"Multiple babies, Mr. Grey." She tries to hide it, but I saw her roll her eyes. "It's a sound precaution. I wouldn't recommend sex again until at least six weeks postpartum..." she explains further, but her words slow and echo like one of the adult voices on The _Peanuts_ ' cartoons.

 _Thud_. That's the sound of my dick crashing to the floor. It takes me a moment to catch my breath. No more hot pregnancy fucks... no more of that ass... my special bath time lovemaking tonight with Ana has to be canceled. Is Dr. Greene doing this on purpose to piss me off? Of course she is! She hates me. All sorts of crazy thoughts stab through my brain. But, as soon as I gather myself and find my resolve, knowing its what's best for Ana and the babies, I proverbially pick my dick up again, dust it off and mournfully put it away for a long summer in a cold dark closet. That's when I hear my wife's voice shriek.

"What do you mean we can't have sex?!"

#######

"Maybe Dr. Greene was overreacting," Ana says as I tuck her into bed. Hell, I practically had to drag her out of that office kicking and screaming after the news. I actually heard my wife utter the words "is anal okay?" to Dr. Greene. It's like a sex crazed mad woman possessed her. It was so fucking hot. "We've always had sex before right up to the end. Maybe we could have just have a little sex..."

"No, Mrs. Grey," I say, making sure the covers go up to her neck so I'm not tempted by her breasts. And they were glorious tonight. I'm not sure if it was because they were the forbidden fruit or just because they are the hottest thing I've seen, but all through dinner all I was hungry for was melon milk. "We're not putting you or our babies at risk." I kiss her chastely on the nose.

No, of course not," she says. "I'll just miss you." She takes my hand and looks at me like I'm leaving for war.

"I'm still here."

"I know, but I'll miss _you_ ," she says. And by that _you_ , I know she means _him_.

"Well, I will miss you, too. But, just think of what we have to look forward to, Mrs. Grey..." Next season. I'll be raking leaves by the time I get into her panties again. Or at least Taylor will. The leaves, not the panties! "And I promise I'll make it well worth the wait." I kiss her again and before I get either of us revved up, I stand to leave.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

"I've got a few things to take care of in my office and you need your rest."

"Well, at least she said I'll be fine to watch the Fourth of July show."

"I'm not so sure, Ana."

"Oh Christian, the kids are looking so forward to it."

"I know, but... Let's talk about this in the morning." I switch off the light. "Sleep, now."

"I love you, Mr. Grey," she murmurs and by the sound of her breath I know in seconds she's nodded off.

"And I love you, Mrs. Grey." I stand there for a few moments longer, just watching her like I did that first night and thousands since.

This is more.

#######

"William Whipple signed the Declaration of Independence," Welch says as I talk to him on the phone in my home office.

"Well, I fucking know that. That's all I do know about the man," I say. "What else did he do?"

"Mostly legislative shit," he says. "They loved him in New Hampshire. He was a general and involved in battles and yada yada. Good stuff, but nothing interesting enough to make a musical out of. You can visit his house. It's really his wife's house, but he planted some patriotic tree there you can take selfies with for a price."

"I'll schedule a tour."

"Oh yeah, and he's the cousin of Stephen Hopkins."

"Who's that?"

"Another guy that signed the thing."

"You mean Tilly is related to two signers?" Why didn't she mention him? Why is he less important than Whipple? How does Tilly have so much B-level Americana running through her blood?

"Who knows. Maybe they inbred." Oh, that's true...

"What else?"

He pauses a moment. "Nothing, really."

"No, tell me. Don't hold anything back."

"No, I mean there's nothing. Really." He laughs. "Oh, wait, he fainted off his horse and died. His heart."

"Where'd you find this shit out?"

"Wikipedia."

"That's how you researched him? I could've done that!"

"What was I supposed to do? I can't hunt down his DMV and cell phone records. Or take photos of him coming out of strip clubs."

Speaking of which...

"What about Tidwiler?" I ask.

"Oh yes, you'll want to hear this."

"Spill it."

"Party last year got so out of hand the cops came."

"What?"

"Yep. Alcohol, marijuana, hot tub threesomes."

"With the kids there?!"

"No, this was after hours. _After_ , after hours."

"Got it. What happened?"

"Tidwiler is a friend of the Sheriff, so they got off with a warning about the music. It was just noise ordinance shit. Oh, and a count of public intoxication."

"On private property?"

"Haskell Fritzwater was drunk on their private front lawn, but then he fell into the street. That made it public." I knew Haskell was bad news.

"What about the fireworks? Did they have a permit?"

"No."

"Well, isn't that worse than loud music?"

"They didn't need a permit. It's legal where he is."

"What? Are you kidding me? A professional fireworks display on personal property doesn't need a permit?"

"Professional?" He laughs like the jackass helium balloon sucker he is. "I guess if you consider buying "the big box" from a stand professional."

"You mean he just got it from a regular stand?"

"That's what I said."

Taylor walks in.

"We'll talk later, Welch. Stay awake!" I hang up. "Taylor?"

"Sir."

"What is it?" I look down and see his biceps flexing from carrying that damn script. I'm surprised Tilly didn't get into better shape just writing the thing. She should sell it on an infomercial as an exercise system.

"I was just looking over my lines, sir..." he looks at me, worried and perplexed. He's wearing satin pajama bottoms and a muscle tee late night in my office. This worries and perplexes me.

"I thought you didn't have any lines," I say.

"That was confirmed, sir. No lines. Although, I make _swoosh_ , _crack_ and _topple_ sounds when the the tree falls down after the big chopping." He grimaces. Why does it look like he's going to take a labored shit on my carpet?

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"You're the one who chops me down, sir." He grimaces.

"So? What, are you offended by this? I won't hurt you."

"No, sir. It would be fine... if you were George Washington."

"What are you saying?" I grab the script from his hands and thumb through it. The opening is the cherry tree chopping incident, so I read. "Oh my god."

"Yes, sir."

I read page after page. From _I cannot tell a lie_ , to the crossing of the Delaware, to the throwing of tea off the ship in Boston harbor. Every major act of American revolutionary history Whipple was responsible for. There's even a veiled reference to _The Gettysburg Address_ thrown in, which is completely bonkers.

"This is bullshit," I say. "Whipple never did any of this!"

"I know, Mr. Grey."

Then I get to the love story... you'd think this was Romeo and Juliet from the way it's played out. Either that or a late night Showtime hour.

"There's a kissing scene!" I say, throwing a hand over my mouth to prevent any projectile vomit from escaping.

"Read page 253, sir." He cringes.

"Oh my god!" I nearly cover my own eyes in response to the thing. "I'm not having my children learn this crap..." I read further. "Or see this crap!" Lying Tilly down amorously on a pile of hay in the family barn while professing love is something no one should have to imagine.

"What do you propose we do, sir?"

"There's no way we're doing any of this at the Tidwiler's!" I pace. I want to call the whole thing off, but Ana and the kids are so looking forward to the show. I have to keep Ana safe... "Wait! They want a boat? I got a boat."

"Do you want me to build a boat, sir?"

"I already have a boat! A real one!"

"You want to have to on your yacht, sir?"

"Yes," I say. "And not only that, I want real fireworks. Ones that require a permit. The biggest display this city's ever seen!" Tidwiler thinks he's the fireworks king, well he's got a sad day coming.

"Yes, but what do we do about the play?"

"Get your typing fingers ready, Taylor. Because, we're going to put on a show no one will ever forget."


	17. Chapter 17

**_Hi guys! Thanks for your reviews and support of my stories! It means the world! If I make you wait, it's because I want to take my time to give you my best. Thank you for your patience! There will be a Darker update soon, I promise! I'm chopping this one up, as there is a lot of material. Hope you enjoy and there's way more to come! I was thinking about doing a one shot election story where Phoebe runs for preschool president and Christian heads her campaign... xox_**

"The witches are coming! The witches are coming!" Phoebe yells as she bounds down the stairs and into the living room dressed in full revolutionary garb as Paul—or rather Paulette Revere for the show today. I'm tempted to ask if Aunt Kate and the photographer are here, but I refrain.

"Phoebe, it's the British, not the witches," I say. "And it's not Halloween. It's the Fourth of July." Chester, who's on her shoulder in a powder blue wig and tuxedo tails that frame his own, stands on his hind legs, hissing at me for no reason other than the fact he wishes me harm. Typical. Who would've ever thought a hamster would tell me to go fuck myself daily and I'd buy him a Versace wardrobe.

"Oh yeah. I forgetted again." She scrunches her nose up at me. "Why can't it be Halloween yet? Or Christmas!"

"Because you have to have fireworks before you get the costumes and candy, and then once you deal with some colossal turkey and a Black Friday it's all tinsel and candy canes from then on out." I think I just described Ana and my love story in a holiday themed nutshell. Though we had more than one colossal turkey to deal with, and after all this time the photographer's still around.

Speaking of turkeys...

"Can Boone come with us to our boat, Daddy?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He could accidentally fly up and fall off, and he doesn't know how to swim."

"Uh huh. Teddy and I teached him in his bubble tub." Oh that's right I had a therapeutic bath installed in that barn bachelor pad for what Phoebe called his achy leg muscles from having to carry around so much chest. Elena complained about that after she got silicone double d's.

"Swimming is not the same as bathing," I say. Maybe I should embroider a towel with those words and gift it to Elliot.

"Oh no!" Phoebe gasps. "I almost didn't 'member to give Boone his happy birthday 'merica socks." She pulls out a pair of Stars and Stripes knit booties—made to fowl specifications— and then starts to take off for the yard.

"Not so fast." I catch her and kneel to face her. "You're not running out to the barn by yourself in those colonial death trap shoes. You'll slip. Plus, it's too far. What are the rules?"

"Don't go walking off without your mommy, or your daddy, or your Taylor," she recites.

"And how long do these rules apply?"

"Until I'm thirty."

"Exactly." I know that's ridiculous. It'll last way past thirty.

"But, Boone will be sad and his feet will be naked and he can't celeb-er-ate the birthday of 'merica right if he has no sparkles and cold toes." She looks up at me all pouty, lip quivering with disappointment, just like Ana. It stabs me through the heart every fucking time.

"Okay, tell you what. I'll give it to him. But, you keep your own revolutionary toes out of the mud and slippery puddles." I look to the colonial rodent who looks like he's about to defect to my neck by way of his teeth. "That goes double for you, Chester." Of course he hisses at me. And then I notice he has the same patriotic socks. Who's making these things—Gail?

"Thank you, Daddy." She hands me the socks that I put in my pocket, and throws her arms around my neck for a hug. I have to laugh. I used to control everyone in my universe. Now, a four-year-old little girl has me delivering socks to her pet turkey like I'm Amazon next day air. And I'm smiling about this.

"Why do I gotta be a clock?" Teddy asks, adjusting his costume as he stomps down the stairs.

"I thought you were excited about being a minute man," I say, standing again.

"Yeah, but I thought I'd just have to wear the watch, not be the watch." He adjusts the gigantic clock face on his torso.

"Well, some men have greatness thrust upon them..." I say.

"Can I wear my princess tiara in the show, Daddy?" Phoebe asks. I can just imagine that on Revere's ride. They'd all claim traitor.

"No, the forefathers were against kings and queens and princesses."

"Who would ever be so weird not to like princesses?" she scrunches her nose.

"Who are the four fathers?" Teddy asks. "I thought you only had just one."

"Not four—fore. As in before," I say.

"Before what?" he asks.

"Before anything made sense," I say. "Ask me after."

"We should get going, the family will be at the boat, shortly," Ana says as she starts down the stairs followed by Gail. God, Ana's beautiful. She's worn her hair up so I can see the length of her neck. Oh, how I wish I could have her. It's been three long days and three even longer nights. I think my cock assumes I went to prison, as he's certainly trying to escape the bars of my zipper. I want to run my tongue down Ana's neck and suck on her earlobe. But, wait...

"Ana, you shouldn't be doing that!" I say.

"Doing what?"

"What you're doing!"

"Walking?"

"Down the stairs, yes!" I make a run for it, taking two at a time until I reach her.

"How else do I get down?" she asks. Fuck. Why didn't I install an elevator? You're an idiot, Grey. Next kid for sure!

"I'll help you," I take her hand, and as our skin touches the electricity that has been unsated pulses in our veins. Yes, I definitely need to install an elevator!

"We'll be late if we don't hurry," she says, and as we reach the bottom I just want to reach for her juicy top, but I refrain. "The drive is farther to our boat than it would be going the Tidwilers who are only eight minutes away, you know." She cuts her eyes up to me. Oh no. She's still pissed at me for pulling the rug out from their damn celebration. Oh, fuck Tidwiler. I gave him a hundred dollar bill for that $99 box of fireworks he bought. He should be happy. He profited and now he can have his sex party and set them off in the middle of the night while heavily intoxicated. It's a win-win-win for him.

"Jason has the car running," Gail says. "I'll take the children out."

"I get the _way way_ back!" Teddy says and runs for the door.

"No, me!" Phoebe says and she races to push her way past him.

"You'll sit where there are fully functioning seat belts!" I yell out. What is it about the _way way back_ anyway? Elliot and I used to fight over that in Mom's station wagon, but that's just because Elliot wanted to sneak candy and nudie magazines and I wanted to sulk. It's a place where all childhood crimes take place. So, the _way way_ back is _way way_ outlawed by Dad.

"Thank you, Gail," Ana calls out, smiling at her, but not at me.

"Ana, you're not still mad that I insisted the show be on The Grace, are you? I told you, I'd feel more comfortable to have control of the surroundings with you almost due—"

"Why didn't you come to bed last night?" she snaps. This is what she's so upset about?

"What? I was working, I told you." I gulp, much like Washington, I'm finding it impossible to tell Ana a lie.

"You were working the whole night until morning, where you slinked into the shower and didn't invite me?" She squints her eyes in suspicion.

"We can't have sex, how could we possibly be alone and naked in box of steam?"

"So, you just decided to sleep at your desk and never come to bed at all?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean..." Fuck. She's caught me. But, as much as this pains me, I have to dodge her. She'd never understand the truth about why I had to spend the night alone with another man...

" _Taylor, I need a word that rhymes with Delaware!" I said, feverishly typing on my laptop at my desk in my study._

 _"Summer hair?" Taylor said. I looked up at him to see if he was fucking serious. He was._

 _"Summer hair?!"_

 _"The grass blew soft like summer hair as I led my men across the Delaware," he recited, too well for me to feel comfortable with in a dimly lit, late night, dark wooded situation. It did rhyme, though._

 _"This isn't a skip-along through the flowers! What the hell does summer hair have to do with the dead of winter in revolutionary wartime Delaware?"_

 _"The hope for a better tomorrow, sir..."_

 _I shook my head. I thought he was supposed to be a hardcore military man, not Bob Dylan._

 _"I have it," I said. "Not wind, nor sleet, nor enemy dare will stop my men's cross of the Delaware."_

 _"That's quite good, Mr. Grey."_

 _"I know. Where are you on the tea party?"_

 _"Just throwing it overboard, sir." I vaguely wondered if Twinings English Breakfast was a thing back then, and if I should buy a load in honor of Ana. Yeah, fuck it, why not._

 _"How much more of it do we have?" I asked as I looked at the clock that read 4:22 a.m._

 _"Only ninety-seven and a quarter more pages to go, sir."_

 _"Oh my god!" I swore, but I just kept on typing._

"Ana, I told you, it was just work—"

"What could you possibly have to work on until 7:03 this morning when you entered the bathroom?" she asks and folds her arms over her belly. Fuck, she actually spied the clock on my shit. Like literally on my shit. She means business.

"Ana, I—" I say, about to blurt out some word clutter for my defense, when I give her the once over, thrice. I've been staring at her breasts so much, I hadn't noticed the horror of the ruffles and the apron and the laced up boots in front of my eyes. "What are you wearing?"

"My Dolly Madison outfit." She shrugs. The shrug jiggles her perfect tits, but I have to remain focused on enemy ruffles.

"Oh no, you're not!"

"Oh yes, I am. And you're not getting off the subject—"

"Ana, we've had this discussion. You're not tiring yourself out doing the show today. You're nearly due with twins! You need to relax—"

"Christian, it's one line. All I have to say "My oh my," the fireworks sound and the flag is raised. It's fifteen minutes. Dr. Greene said it was okay."

Which is suspicious. Dr. Greene says no sex, but acting is allowed. I think Dr. Greene did it to fuck with me by having it so my wife couldn't fuck with me. Gynecologists really do have men by the balls.

"Ana, I just don't know about this."

"Then just don't know, because I do." She grins, but not happily, more like she's flipping me off with her lips. Such attitude today. She's hormonal, so I'll shut my trap before I fall into one. "Now, we'll be late. Will you walk me to the car?"

"Yes," I say. "But, I have to do something before we leave."

"What?"

"I have to put socks on Boone."

#######

"Rocketz glare and bombz mid air have called our nation's rise, and now the foot of Whipple stands on Plymouth Rock, ready, steady and wise," I practice read as Taylor helps me into my costume in a guest bedroom at the bottom of the boat. I've ordered—or more like pleaded with— Ana to rest before the show in our master suite. We'll see how long that lasts. Defying me is her favorite pastime. "Plymouth Rock? Why is there still so much bullshit here?"

"Because if we cut everything that you deemed the feces of intact cattle, we'd have no show, sir."

"But, this thing goes on forever! It'll be the next Fourth of July before we get halfway through."

"I'll try to fall fast, Mr. Grey." What the hell is he saying? Oh, the cherry tree chopping incident.

"Why are you fiddling with my lapels so much?" I ask as he continues to finger them.

"I'm trying to turn you on, sir."

"What?

"I'm looking for the place that makes you light up."

"Taylor, this is fucking weird. Even for you."

"For your jacket, Mr. Grey. The button. To illuminate it."

I turn to look at myself in the full length mirror.

"Why does it have Christmas lights stuck all over it?" I ask.

"They're independence lights. For the big finale, sir." He smiles excitedly as he grabs for my cuff, presses down and I do light up, quite literally, like the the Fourth of July. "I found it!"

"This is fucking ridiculous," I say, watching as I twinkle, flickering on and off.

"Just press this little button on your sleeve after Mrs. Grey's line and before the fireworks begin, sir."

"Why do I look like the casino Vegas forgot and you're wearing a brown turtleneck and corduroy pants?" He looks like he's about to read me poetry and offer me red wine while we talk about our feelings. Actually, he reminds me of Flynn.

"I'm a tree, sir. I need to blend in with the bark."

"Oh right." I adjust my wig. "It won't stay."

"Here, let me help." He pulls out a bottle of some stuff you'd expect a mad chemist to mix into a beaker before he makes a man an evil bionic version of himself and sets him loose in society.

"What is that?" I ask.

"Wig adhesive, sir." He takes out the little brush from the bottle and the smell nearly knocks me out.

"I don't want this thing glued to my head."

"You don't want to lose your hair in the ocean before you sign your name to the Declaration of Independence, Mr. Grey." There's a line I never thought I'd hear Taylor say.

"Fine. Just a little." He smears the smelly glob of glue all across my skin. "Has this been approved by the FDA?"

"I'm sure it has," he says, but he doesn't sound convinced.

"That's enough!" I swat him away.

"But, you have frayed edges, sir."

"Good. It's my subliminal message to the audience of how pissed off I am about this fucking thing." I give him a look. "Put the bottle away, Taylor."

"Yes, sir." He follows instruction.

"You glued it too high on my right side, now my eyebrow's all stretched and raised," I say, examining myself in the mirror. "I look like I'm suspicious of everyone."

"You are, sir."

"Funny."

"Do you want me to reposition it?"

"No, keep your toxic glue away from me. I'd rather have a raised brow for a few hours than lung cancer."

"Yes, Mr. Grey."

"Are the fireworks set?" I ask.

"Permit obtained and explosives in position, sir." He's so damn excited about the prospect of lighting things off.

"Good. You sure you know how to do them?"

"I've been in charge of major stockpiles of ammunition, explosives and missiles my whole adult life, so I'm most ready for a fireworks show, sir."

"Don't salivate all over your bark," I say. "How about the script changes? Are they ready for distribution?"

"Affirmative. But sir, I do have one question. How are we going to ensure Tilly keeps her mouth quiet once the changes take place on stage?"

"Trust me, Taylor. I have a plan for that."

########

"Tilly, I need to speak to you," I whisper to her up on deck and pull her aside. She looks so excited, like I'm going to make out with her before home room behind the gymnasium. I have to swallow the vomit that just shot up my throat thinking about that prospect.

"What is it Mr. Grey?" Tilly asks. That costume she's wearing looks less revolutionary political wife and more can-can girl who really can't can't.

"I've invited a special friend here today," I whisper, conspiratorially. "And by special I do mean special."

"Really? Special?" Her chest heaves and I have to dodge the boulders.

"Don't say anything," I say, looking around to ensure secrecy. "But, he's from a big Broadway production outfit and he was enthralled, absolutely enthralled reading your work."

"I know it has that effect."

"He wants to see it on its feet before he makes any big, important decisions," I say and her eyes light up like she's getting three scoops for the price of one. "So, we must remain polished and professional at all times... no matter what happens."

"Of course, Mr. Grey, I'll be in character from here on out," she says, fluttering the webs Charlotte's evil imposter spun at the edge of her eyelids. "This is so exciting! I'm going to have my mother cinch my corset tighter." She moves away.

"Don't hurt yourself," I call out, but she's gone.

"Grey," a man's garbled voice startles me from behind and I turn.

"Tidwiler," I say.

"Your boat is nice," he grimaces.

"Thank you," I say, with a suspicious squint.

"You coming to my after party tonight?" he practically growls.

"No."

"Good." Then, he walks away. What a fucking nut.

"Here ye, here ye, baby bro," Elliot says, approaching me in full theatrical garb to play Thomas Jefferson. Asshole. My brother, not Jefferson. I'm sure Tom was lovely.

"Elliot, or should I say cracked pillar of our nation's history?"

"You could say that." He laughs. "I've never been a pillar before."

"You've never been a lot of things."

"Cute jacket," Kavanagh says, hooked on him, but referring to the number on me. "Let me guess, you're playing the kite Ben Franklin catches lightning with."

"Hilarious." I sarcastically smile. "I don't want to linger to converse, so I'll hand this off." I look around before I shove a copy of the new scenes into Elliot's hands.

"What's this?" he asks.

"Changes from up top."

"Tilly never said anything about changes," he says.

"She left it to me."

"There have been changes nobody knows about?" Kate asks, scrunching her nose and putting on her junior reporter hat. It's so junior she couldn't even get it together as a senior to interview me for the student paper. Thank God!

"That's why I'm passing them out. For you to know about them."

"My part better still be the same," Kavanagh snarks.

"Yes, Betsy Ross still sews the flag." I roll my eyes. And I still have to live through that nails on a chalkboard rendition of _A Needle and Thread Runs Through It._

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks.

"Like what?"

She mimics my arched brow. Oh, the glue.

"I looked at you and it just froze that way," I say, and she rolls her eyes.

"Uncle Christian," Ava says, tugging on my sleeve, which then immediately lights up. "I know who you are!"

"Who?"

"The leader of the troll people who live under ground and light up our houses and charge monies and then if you don't pay they hide under your bed and eat your toes if you hang them off the side."

"Yep, you guessed it." I switch myself off.

"Ava!" Phoebe yells when she sees her cousin and they embrace, jumping up and down. "You get to play one of the peoples I yell at!"

"Yeah," Ava says. "You better wave special to me when you go by my house!" Oh right, Ava plays one of the townspeople on Paulette Revere's ride.

"Dad, Fritzy's a clock, too," Teddy says, running up with him.

"Congratulations," I say down to Fritzy.

"Thank you," Fritzy says, but you just know he's not sincere. He's the kind of kid that would say thank you for a piece of candy while pocketing three.

"Hey, where are your life jackets?" I ask all the kids.

"They don't go pretty with our costumes, Daddy," Phoebe says.

"Too bad, you know the rules." I walk to the holder and pull some child-sized versions out. "All the kids wear them." I put it on Phoebe and hand one to Kate to fit on Ava, and the boys strap into their own.

"Aww, Dad a clock with an orange vest looks dumb," Teddy says.

"Better dumb and living than smart and drowning." I move to him to secure his.

"Where's Chester's?" Phoebe asks and I reach back in, pull the custom made number out and hand it to her.

Fritzy tugs on my arms. "It matches my dad's shoes." He then sticks his head through one of the arm holes and twirls around. What's the deal with that family and orange?

"Where is your father?" I ask. He points to the bar. Figures.

Speaking of the bar...

"Christian!" Carla waves, cocktail already in hand as she stands with Bob and my parents in the distance. They really are the quartet these days. Speaking of people who should be wearing life vests. At least we'll only be a short distance out when the play and fireworks take place. There's no way I'll be stuck out at sea with Ana so pregnant, two drunk grandmothers and so many people I can't fucking stand.

"Carla," I say, giving her a kiss on the cheek as she, Bob and my folks make their way over to us. "Glad you can make it."

"We can always make it when you send your private plane," she says, and she and my mother giggle. About what, I have no idea. I don't think they do, either.

"Well, it's Ana's plane, too. So, we're happy to send it for you," I say. "Hello Bob."

"It's so cool how I don't have to check my luggage in," Bob says, with a handshake only a baboon could appreciate. If I was a small man, my feet would leave the ground. "And you have way better peanuts."

"They're not peanuts," Carla says. "They're cashews."

"That's why they're better!"

The quartet laughs.

"I always say, chose the right nut for the job," I say, and I spy Taylor fiddling with the fireworks in the distance on the dock. I think he's going through a mock trial of the events later in his mind. I see he's stock piled the Twinings for the drop, as well.

"Oh Christian, you look so cute!" my mother says, giggling. "I can't wait to see you up there on stage. Let me take a picture." She pulls out her iPhone and starts snapping away. She acts like this is my school performance. I guess, in some odd way, she's reliving the childhood I never was able to have now. Maybe I am, too.

"Isn't this a great picture," Grace says, showing it off.

"Mom, my eyes aren't even in it."

"I wanted the costume!"

"How long has Ana been pregnant with this baby?" my grandfather asks, far too loudly. His hearing aid broke last week, so everything is at amped volume.

"It's two babies," my grandmother says, waving her hand to hush him.

"She's been knocked up twice since we ate that blue cake?" He winks at me and claps his hands like he's applauding a one man circus. "Damn you've been busy!"

"Not that busy," I mutter and sigh.

"Daddy, Uncle Jose is here!" Phoebe says, as she and Ava take my hands and drag me over to him. Why are they doing this?

"Yay," Ava says. "He's my favorite uncle."

"He's not your uncle, I am."

She looks up at me like I told her Rudolph wasn't really a reindeer. Damn, that guy has infiltrated my life! The disease of his kind not only infected my generation, it's going to infect generations to come.

"Uncle Jose," the girls say as they run up to him and he kneels down for hugs.

"Okay, enough hugging. You'll scuff up your costumes," I say.

"Hey Christian!" Jose says as he stands and then gives me a half hug. But, half a hug from Jose is still too much of a hug.

"Why are you here?" I ask. I always ask.

"To take pictures," he says. "And I brought my dad."

"Of course," I wave to Jose Sr. No holiday would be complete without a man completely unrelated to us who hates being here and wishes me ill will. After all these years I get no more than a grunt out of him. Today I think it's something about being seasick. Just what I need Photographer Sr. vomit all over the deck. Wait, wasn't he in the navy?

"Where's Ana?" Jose asks.

"Resting," I say. "Why?"

"I just wanted to take some pictures of her costume."

"I'm sure," I say. "Don't worry about it. I'll take the all the photos of that."

"Hey, there's Mia." He waves at her in the distance and she waves back, then he takes off fast, leaving me awkwardly standing with his father, as Phoebe and Ava have now devoted their interest to Chester's shiny jazz pants. What a douchebag. I swear, that guy doesn't quit! I'm about to follow and shove his lens up his ass when Ray rushes up to me from behind.

"Christian!" Ray says. He's dressed like Uncle Sam. He's not in the show. He just does this every year.

"Hello Ray," I say. "You're friend is here." They exchange a nod. It's the most excited I've see Jose Sr. get since I tripped on a tree wire at Christmas and spilled nog all over the fireplace.

Where's Ana?" Ray asks.

"I was actually just about to check on her. She's supposed to be resting."

Kavanagh breezes past.

"Oh yeah, Ana was up here looking for you before. She went to lie back down," Kavanagh says, overhearing our conversation, then adding her four cents short of a nickel. "She wanted to see you."

"When was this?" I ask.

"Before you came up here."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just did." She smirks.

God, Kavanagh is a pain. But, I pay no mind to her royal bitch-foolery. I take off fast to find Ana.

"Ana," I say, entering the master suite. I find her propped up on the bed. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," she says, but she looks away. She doesn't seem okay. She's sniffing. Is she crying?

"Is something wrong? I'll get a doctor. We'll get you to the hospital."

"No, I feel fine. I'm just not happy..." She looks up at me. "About us."

Oh. My. God.

My whole life flashes before my eyes as my jacket does the same. Does she no longer love me? Is she really leaving me when she's nearly due with our twins and while I'm dressed as an electrical parade version of a political figure no one's ever heard of? This has to be the hormones, right? If not, my existence is over.

"Ana, what do you mean?" I'm frozen.

"I know why you didn't come to bed last night."

"You do?" I ask, switching my lights off. Did Kate slip her the script? Is that why she's in tears? Is she really this upset over a re-write of _Whipple_?

"I do."

"Ana, I don't think you understand—"

"It's written all over your face, and spelled out with your body language."

"What?" It's all I can say. If my body is talking right now it's speaking Swahili, because I don't know what the fuck it's saying.

"What you're trying to hide from me is that you didn't want to sleep next to me, because you don't want to touch me anymore." She wipes away a tear.

"Ana, it's not that." I rush to her. "Of course I want to touch you. I want to touch, and squeeze, and suck, and lick every part of you." I lose my train of thought for a moment thinking of the licking of every part. "But, we're not supposed to do that stuff."

"I don't like this," she says, and reaches up and grabs me by the belt, thrusting me forward, and undoing it with her fast hands. Oh my god, is she going to break my dick?

"Ana, you might want to think about whatever you're doing."

"I don't have to. I need you. Now!" She pulls my boxer briefs down like a whore's drawers and my manhood springs free. Fuck, am I hard. Three days and it's like I'm fossilized.

"Ana—"

"I want you any way I can get you." She immediately spits on her hand, wraps her fingers around my length, and strokes me up and down.

"Dr. Greene said no orgasms," I say and try to pull away, but her grip is strong and her fingers so nice. My protests are weak as I involuntarily start to pump into her hand.

"None for me, but she didn't say anything about you." She circles her tongue around my tip.

Holy hell.

"Ana, I can't do this and not pleasure you." Oh but her mouth feels so good.

"This is pleasuring me." She swirls her tongue around and around and where she stops nobody knows or fucking cares as long as she keeps doing that.

"But, the show is going to start," I mutter incoherently as she takes me fully inside her mouth and I reach the back of her throat. Sooooooo deep.

"Better come fast, then." She bobs up and down. Ana's always good at giving head, but today she's going for the Oscar, the Grammy and the Adult Film Award all at once. Fuck, this is so hot!

"Ana, you don't have to..." But, please do.

"You taste so good." She swirls her tongue around my tip, tasting my precum.

"Oh Ana." I grab her hair and she takes me into her mouth deeper and deeper. It's been a frustrating three days, so coming fast is not a problem. I pump myself into her mouth again and again. Only a few thrusts more and I explode, shooting ropes of come down the back of her throat. She sucks and slurps every last drop from me and my release extends on and on. While this is happening, she must've grabbed my sleeve, because when I remove myself I'm all lit up, figuratively and literally.

"Oh fuck," I say as I pull away from her and she licks her lips. There is nothing hotter than my wife tasting away my come from her mouth. "Oh baby, you didn't have to do that." I stroke her hair.

"I wanted to."

"Oh Ana." I pull my pants up fast and turn off my jacket before curling up with her on the bed. "I'm sorry if I was being distant. I just love you so much. I didn't want to take even a slight risk of you getting heated up and it hurting you."

"I'm fine, Christian. I just missed you so much. I missed being close."

"I missed you, too, Mrs. Grey." I kiss her head. "It's killing me I can't make you come. It's like I didn't do my job."

"You'll have to make it up to me big time in a few months."

"Don't say months again." I laugh. It's going to be a long one.

"I'm glad you're still attracted to me."

"Oh Ana." I cup her face. "You just don't know, do you?"

"Don't know what?"

"How ever since I first laid eyes on you, you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. And you still are."

"I'm nothing like I was then." She strokes her belly.

"Me, neither." I smile and then I lean in and kiss her lips softly. "And thank God for that." I stroke her face and wipe a teardrop away with the pad of my thumb. "Now, Mrs. Grey, there is nothing more I'd like than to hold you here all afternoon. But, we have a show to do. Are you sure you're up to it?"

"I'll be fine, Christian. It's only three little words. What harm could three little words bring?"

And three little words stab their way through my mind— Save Our Ship.


	18. Chapter 18

**_Thank you a thousand times over for your patience and your support of my stories. There will be more of both soon. Hope you are all having a wonderful holiday. Happy New Year!_**

 _ **Now, another holiday... Back to July 4th!**_

" _In the little little town of Kittery, a wee wee Whipple is born,_ " Tilly sings as the colonial dressed and orange life-vested kids trample each other across the makeshift stage to see America's newborn prodigal son—William Whipple Junior.

" _As the snow came down..._ " Tilly continues, as some stage-side kids chuck boxfuls of shredded up paper and packing supplies out to simulate a January snowstorm in Maine. It's a sideways snow, but we're suspending disbelief all over the fucking place today. " _Out came the town... to kiss this blessed baby child on the crown."_

You'd think the wisemen were about to show up at the manger from the sound of this.

Little Suzetta Buchanan—who's playing Mother Whipple—holds an anatomically correct baby doll out for the world to see. I know it's anatomically correct because, in this _Lion King_ moment, the anatomical correctness is not covered by the blanket and flashed like Gordon to the crowd.

"It's a boy! It's a boy!" Little Mother Whipple calls out and my grandfather, who's seated in the front row of the audience, hollers back, "We can see it!" Everyone laughs, except my grandmother and a horrified Grace.

"This thing is worse up on its feet than it was on the page," I whisper backstage to Taylor from my place of peeking at the curtain. It's hard to watch this monstrosity on its feet—and not just Tilly, the play, too. We didn't make cuts or changes to the opening, so as not to alert her to our shenanigans, but fuck is this whole mess terrible.

"I think the piano accompaniment is off, Mr. Grey," Taylor says as he adjusts his cherries drooping on each side of his wood—on his costume, that is. He's a tree. He's always a tree. Unless he's a vegetable.

"You think?" I say, sarcastically, as I watch Tilly's mother pound away on some eighties keyboard with her pink lacquered hooves.

"Do I look alright, sir?" Taylor asks me. "These cherries are quite heavy for the stems and they tend to fall off." He works to secure one that's hanging on within an inch of its life from a green pipe cleaner.

"Did Gail make your costume?" I give him the thrice over. If so, she did it at midnight, on sleeping pills, with her left foot.

"No, the preschoolers made this one, sir."

"Oh, then yes. No one was ever a better tree than you, Taylor."

"Thank you, sir." He's so humbled by that compliment, it's troubling.

I peek out at the stage again, but before I can focus on the action happening, I feel another sort of action happening on my right ass cheek. Either Taylor is prodding me with his limb or there's a bug in my revolutionary knickers. No, that's not the bite of an insect—it's a pinch, from greedy fingers. One of those mothers is trying to accost me again. I turn to face the pinching perpetrator, pissed. "I have a wife, you know—"

"And she thinks you look quite adorable," Ana says.

Ana!

I close the curtain and walk down the few deck steps to face her. "Well, you're quite adorable yourself, Mrs. Grey," I smile and give her a sweet kiss. "Wait, why are you up, walking around and pinching my bottom?"

"Because if I sit down I can't get up in time for my part." She puts her hands on top of her belly and I place my hands on top of hers. "Plus, I just felt like making myself busy and the pinching of your bottom seemed like a good way to expend my energy."

"Ana," I gasp as I take hold of her hands. "This could be a sign!"

"That I'm an ass woman?" She winks and smiles.

"No, that's it's almost time."

"Time for what?"

"You're in nesting mode! You're going to have the babies! We should get to a hospital."

"Christian, I'm not nesting. I'm just going stir crazy with all the rest you're having me take."

"That's doctor's orders."

"No, she ordered no sex. I'm not on bed rest, I just can't have orgasms. Although, I'd be willing to help you out with your frustrations again, Sir." She licks her lips and bites. God, she's so hot and cute when she's all flirty and chewing on her flesh. I have to keep from smiling to show her I'm serious.

"Ana, I know how you get in the final stretch—the itchy fingers, the pacing, the domestic tasks... Let's not forget what happened the morning of Phoebe's birth." I close my eyes and shake my head, remembering the horrors I witnessed.

"I was vacuuming the nursery," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, there was more than vacuuming going on. I saw the bottle of organic cleaner and your little polishing cloths. The diaper organization on the changing station was library quality." Nine months pregnant and she wanted to slave away with housework! "Two hours later, whoosh, your water broke all over that freshly vacuumed carpet. And with all that happened after—"

"Christian, I promise you, I will let you know loud and clear if I need to go to the hospital. Right now, I just want to pinch your ass." She does it again, with a rebellious grin.

"Ana, I mean it. Don't tax yourself."

"No tax-er-tation without rep-er-sen-teration," Teddy practices his line as he and Fritzy zoom around our legs.

"Hey, no running near water," I say and they slow.

"Are you water?" Fritzy asks. A real chip off the old blockhead.

"No, but we're surrounded by it."

"But, we're in the boat middle and the water's way out on the sides," Teddy says.

"That's still too close for tomfoolery." I do feel better knowing I have security posted around the entire perimeter whose sole purpose is to watch for rogue kids near the rails.

Fritzy tugs on my pant leg. "Did you know our doodies get flushed out to the ocean and we swim in them when we take vacation?" Maybe where his father takes him.

"And did you know that if you run and jump too hard you might fall right through and straight into that global toilet bowl below?

"Cool!"

"Fritzy's clock is off!" Teddy says.

"I can see that." Oh wait, he means the clock face he's wearing to play in their Minute Men scene and not his general mental state.

"Stop running around. That's why your clock hands are spinning." I lean down to have a look. "What time is he supposed to be?"

"We wanna be the same times," Teddy says. "So, we're not each living on a different day for any hours."

I straighten the two of them. "There, high noon for you both on the same Thursday."

"Why don't you practice your march," Ana says and amazingly they do so.

"March, not sprint," I say. "And where I can see you!" They start to scamper off. "I'm old, I can't see that far!"

"Shhhh!" Ana whispers. "The play is going on."

"Trust me, she's belting out so loud no one can hear anything else, except the buzz in their ears."

"Daddy! Mommy! Look at my pony!" Phoebe says as she rides on the back of the miniature horse I rented for her "Paula Revere" ride.

"Phoebe, you can't ride that pony around the boat!" I say. I can see the top of Chester's head just peeking out from her pocket. His colonial wig looks like one of his relatives passed out on his head.

"I got the reins, sir," says the girl who's the handler, trailing a bit behind. She's definitely less girl and more handler. "Just getting her set up for the big scene."

"That animal isn't going to buck up wildly or anything?" I ask.

"No, she's a real good girl," the handler says. "She smiles when you give her sugar." She demonstrates with a cube in her palm.

"I don't like the way that horse shows it's teeth."

"Christian, it's a smile," Ana says.

"Smiles aren't always happy," I say to her. "I smiled for years with no joy."

"You smiled in flat line, no teeth," Ana says. She's right, I always did smile in a flat line back then. How odd.

"She's the sweetest," Phoebe says, patting the pony on the mane. "I call her Cupcake Sprinkles."

"Well, that's a lovely name." I give Phoebe a kiss on the head. "But, you be careful."

"I'll walk with them," Ana says, and also wrangles up the boys. "We'll go over their lines."

"Fine. But, watch for kicking hooves and do it with a relaxed disposition!" I'm met with more rolling of the eyes.

" _And the baby grows!"_ Tilly belts out, nearly cracking the sails and my eardrums. She's like an alleycat Aretha Franklin impersonator up there.

"It's my turn," Taylor says as he takes off for his place in the woods on stage.

Fucking finally!

"Break a limb," I say. I know, bad joke.

This is where the fun begins...

Hack, Hack, Hack.

The kid playing young Whipple—his name is Caden or Jaden or something aden —slams that fake ax into Taylor's trunk again and again, and with such verve. God, it's brutal. Good thing Taylor's made of gunmetal and spare parts.

I take it back, the fun actually begins after all that.

With the dramatics of Olivier, or the comedy of a Marx—less Groucho, more Harpo—Taylor falls to the ground, and actually does break a limb. At least it's not one on his actual person, and just one made of cardboard and crepe paper. Of course those damn cherries let loose all over the stage and fly out into the audience.

"Look it's a cough drop!" some kid out there yells.

"Eww, it's a hairy one!" a girl says.

Those cherries were cough drops? Why are they hairy? Oh, the pipe cleaners.

There's a rustle in the bushes and out comes Father Whipple—the dad, not a priest—played by Lloyd Ramone, who is also a marginally present father and definitely not a priest. He owns a "web dead" business. Basically, if you pay him enough he'll prevent your degenerate mess of a life from showing up on a Google search. That's why I have Welch. He raises degenerates from the dead of cyberspace daily.

"Son, did you chop down my cherry tree?" Lloyd asks, turning his back to the crowd. At first I think he's gotten stage fright, or he's solely an idiot, but then I see why— he's got his business info stitched on the back of his cloak.

"Father, I can not tell a lie," Young Whipple says. It was—"

"George Washington!" fallen Taylor shouts.

"No," the kid says, scrunching his face. "It was me—"

" _Meeeeeester_ George Washington," Taylor says. Good save with the _Meeeeeester_. "George Washington could never tell a lie."

The lights dim. The pre-arranged music from the sound system that drowns out Tilly's mother's shit goes up. Taylor and I found a club remix of _Yankee Doodle Dandy a_ nd something Puff Diddy Daddy on a website devoted to patriotic rap. It was late and we were punch drunk—and I think the only club this has ever played in is Grandma's Basement, but it's surprisingly effective.

Six little preschoolers—three boys and three girls— all dressed in cardboard cherry costumes do their little dance around the dead wood that is Taylor.

" _Honesty_ ," the kids sing, sharply. " _Is the best policy!"_ They all wag their fingers in judgement. Fittingly, right at Lloyd Ramone.

The smoke machine turns on and the lights swirl in patriotic colors.

Tilly looks up, horrified at what's transpiring. She catches my eye and I just shrug.

The spotlight goes on. I'm waiting for the big moment when Washington appears—or rather Bo Tidwiler in a wig and hopefully not with a margarita in hand—but there's nothing. Just the continual chant of the honesty policing cherries.

I look around. He's not backstage or in the audience. He's not at the bar—Thank God for that!

But, where the fuck is he?

"Bo Tidwiler is vomiting all over your kitchen, Grey," Kavanagh says to me from behind.

"What?" I turn around to face her.

"Seasick."

"But, he's George Washington."

"Well, evidentially, George didn't make it across the Delaware." The snarktress smirks.

The song fades and I hear footsteps. I turn to see the shadow of a man crossing the stage. It's hard to make out through the abundance of flag colored smoke, but his silhouette stands proud, holding firm to his faux musket.

"He's going on now!" I point. I don't think I've ever seen Tidwiler stand so erect before. Has he lost weight in the last forty-three minutes? Has he gained pecs?

"No, they had to re-cast," she says.

"Who's _they_?"

"The group witnessing Tidwiler spill his guts all over your tile. I handed a script to the best possible alternative."

"You did what? But, everyone else has a part. Who's available to be George Washington on a moment's notice?"

The spotlight comes down on George.

Oh fuck.

Of course she did this.

It's the photographer.

Rodriguez walks into the spotlight—script in hand—like it's been calling him all his life.

"Jose can't be George Washington!" I say to her.

"Why, because he's Mexican?" Kate snarks.

"No, because he's an idiot!"

"Yo, bro," Elliot says, coming up to us, looking like a skunk just let loose on his face. "You gotta get that guy out of your kitchen."

"Who gets sea sick this close to the dock?" We're only on a short harbor cruise to thrill everyone that "we're out to sea," but we're really barely going anywhere. "He's not sick—he's drunk."

"I don't know man, but get new bowls and potted arrangements."

He better not have fucked up Ana and my special wooden apples!

" _I could never fib to the face of my father,_ " Jose sings, so over the top he's hit the bottom again. Why does he sound like Enrique Iglesias would if he just got kicked in the nuts and kind of enjoyed it? " _And I could never lie to this country of mine."_

"Dude, why did George Washington grow up so fast?" Elliot asks. "He was like five and now he's like a hundred."

"A hundred?" I shoot back. "How is that even possible?"

"I don't know. They lived long in Biblical times."

I shake my head. What a moron. "It's artistic interpretation. Plus, that wasn't little Washington before, it was little Whipple."

"Aren't you little Whipple?" he asks.

"No, I'm big Whipple, and don't you forget it."

"Sir," Taylor says, coming back stage, looking like a tree who's been through three hard winters, a summer drought and a hurricane. "What happened to Mr. Tidwiler?"

"He's throwing up in the kitchen," I say.

"Seasick," Kavanagh says.

"Tequila," I say.

"Jose's really good," Elliot says, listening to him. "I kinda feel like hugging Dad now."

" _Papa oh Papa_ ," Jose belts out. " _I learned at your knee how to be...me..."_ Oh God, the long, high notes really make me want to send him to the hospital.

"Should I call an ambulance, sir?" Taylor asks. Did he just read my mind? Have we reached that level? Oh wait, he means Tidwiler, not Jose.

"Yes. Put Tidwiler in the lifeboat and have Sawyer get him to shore. I don't want the play disrupted!" Oddly, I realize I'm actually barking orders up a tree, here. "And even if he's intoxicated, make sure everyone believes he is seasick. I don't want his kid to hear anything different."

"Yes, sir." Taylor takes off.

"Mr. Grey, can I have a word with you," Tilly whisper-calls over to me as she arrives back stage.

Oh fuck. I've got a man vomiting in my kitchen, now Tilly's going to do the same to me with her words in my ears—and her general appearance and odor may induce me to do the same. And, fittingly, all this upchucking is happening to a soundtrack sung by the photographer.

So no one will hear, I move to her and pull her aside. I think this excites her. Like we're sneaking off together.

"Mr. Grey, someone has changed the script," she says.

"You don't say. I had noticed a thing or two out of place."

"Do you know who could have done this?"

"Well, as you know, I passed the script along to my big Broadway producer friend and he had some ideas that he passed along to the cast..."

"He didn't pass anything along to me."

"Well, that's because he enjoyed all of your... thing...that you do...so much."

"My singing and dancing?" Was that a dance she was doing? I thought she was teetering because her corset's so tight and her dogs are stuffed within an inch of their life into those lace-up booties.

"Yes, so there were no changes necessary for you, for the most part."

"Well, that's wonderful."

"It is."

"But, your friend is changing the story!" Is she fucking serious? She re-wrote history with this thing. I just made it right again. I would argue with her, but I don't want another revolution starting up backstage. I just want her to keep her mouth shut.

"He's very important," I say. "He knows some big producers who would want to take a real shot with this thing..." in the head, but I won't expound upon that.

" _Father, oh father, I will make you and my country proud,"_ Jose blasts out the last words of his song. The crowd cheers and there are thunderous applause.

What the hell? They liked him? They really liked him? I race to look out. Why are my mother and Carla giving him a standing ovation? Why the hell is Mia?!

That's it, I'm not serving booze at any more school functions.

"Yo bro, you're on," Elliot says.

He's right. My first scene is up.

Shit.

#######

It's spring in Whippleville, cherry blossoms now cover the ground and my wig is trying to murder me.

"Son, now that you are grown, you must put aside your boyhood ways," Lloyd Ramone—who has baby powder in his tied back black hair now to signify his aging process—says to me. This whole set-up feels really fucking twisted. Two grown men with powdered hair and tails, holding muskets. I refuse to call him Daddy. "You must find yourself a wife!"

Cue Tilly walking down the lane, twirling a little parasol over her shoulder as she pretends to sniff some artificial flowers stuck to an artificial bush on the artificial lawn. Taylor and I should've swiped that track from The Producers—Springtime for Hitler for what I'm looking at right now.

I stare at her. I'm supposed to be mesmerized by the beauty of my new flower sniffing her flowers, but I don't think I'm thespian enough to mask my disgust. It's sort of like the look you give your grandmother when she tells you at the Thanksgiving table that the prunes have been working.

"The wait for love is no longer," I say and make my way to Tilly. She's expecting my song— _The American Revolution of My Heart_. Instead, she gets me saying from arm's length, "Let's get hitched."

She gapes, but before she can protest further the wedding march cues up and blasts from the speakers as the kids work to change the backdrop from the garden to a chapel, all while singing, "What a lovey dovey day for a wedding... A lovedy dovedy day to be wed."

"Why did we skip all of our courtship?" she angrily whispers to me as her little bridesmaids ready her for the wedding. She's handed her bouquet and bends to have her veil attached. When she stands up I'm faced with some real Bride of Frankenstein shit. "How will the audience know the depth of your love for me if they don't see the garden dance or our evening in the barn hay?"

"These things are better left imagined, trust me."

"Do you take this gentler-men to be your law filled husband?" Archie Felch, the tow-headed boy playing the minister, shouts out to Tilly.

"I do," she says.

"And do you take her to be your law filled wife?" he shouts at me. Someone told this kid to project all the way back to 1776.

"If I must." Tilly gives me a look. "I mean, I do."

"By the power in my vest I say you are married and you could kiss and have babies."

Tilly is expecting me to lean in for the big wet one.

She's expecting love...

But, an explosion sounds from the speakers. The lights go down, then flash in effect.

It's war.

The kids change the backdrop to a battlefield—it's a Star Wars Lego character one, but it does the job.

"You better pay me your monies!" a boy playing a British Red Coat hollers as he charges on stage with others of his kind.

"We don't getta vote on it, so you don't get our Benjamins!" one of the boys playing an American rebel says back. He ad-libbed that one. Too bad Benjamin isn't on the hundred dollar bill yet.

A very toned down version of the Boston Massacre begins to take place. So toned down it's really just three boys in those red coats representing the Queen's England shooting water pistols at the five boys dressed in rubbish representing America. The "American" boys pull out matching water pistols and we're suddenly in a super soaker war.

"The Americans aren't supposed to win this one," I whisper to one of the boys dressed in rags, but he continues hosing down the Brits.

"We'll throw their tea into the sea!" BoBo Tidwiler shouts as he and a group of colonial kids dressed as Native Americans burst onto the stage.

" _No tax on tea! No tax on tea!_ " they chant.

Roughhousing their way over to the little boat set-up that holds the teabags—Twinings in a wink and nod to my Ana—they grab fistfuls of little packets. They're supposed to throw them over the edge of the set and into a box, only they're having too much fun with it and they start chucking them at each other, swinging them by the bag strings.

" _No tax on tea! No tax on tea!"_

Unfortunately the kids from the massacre haven't left the stage like they were scripted to, and they continue their super soaker war. And as the water is shot at the teabag swingers and throwers, brown liquid starts to run all over everything and the ship smells like I imagine the water did back then.

"Our nation is in trouble," Elliot says as he takes the stage as Thomas Jefferson. He's telling me. _The Grace_ will reek of English Breakfast forever.

"Thomas Jefferson, how can I offer you council?" I shout over these kids.

"We can not stand for tyranny!" he yells out with a fist pump in the air. "We must fight!"

The kids cheer—and fight. The problem is the "American" kids are fighting each other now.

It's fucking chaos.

A new backdrop of Paula Revere's Ride is brought in—nine houses drawn on butcher paper with little windows cut out of each for the townspeople to look out of. When the lights dim, those at war are haphazardly ushered off the stage by Tilly and a few of her minions, and the townspeople take their places at their little windows.

Elliot and I exit stage right, as we aren't in this scene, and I immediately go to find Phoebe and that horse.

"Be careful and don't go too fast," I say to Phoebe as Ana helps to ready her in the saddle. Of course Phoebe giggles and pays me no real mind as the handler let's go of the reins and she trots off. I gasp, nearly having a heart attack witnessing this. I fear her first driving attempts will go something like this.

"Don't worry, Daddy. She's doing very well," Ana says as we watch.

"What about you, Mommy?" I put a hand on her belly. "You look a little flushed. And you're carrying awfully low right now. Are your joints feeling loose?" I'm keeping a keen eye on her flexibility—even more keen than usual.

"Christian, I'm not in labor." She kisses me on the cheek. "Please, stop worrying. Let's watch our daughter."

"I thought you didn't want me to worry," I say, worrying.

"The Brit-shits are coming! The Brit-shits are coming!" Phoebe yells at the top of her lungs as she and the horse enter the stage.

Oh my God. I think I heard my mother gasp. Or maybe it was the collective of all the mothers gasping at once.

"Did she just say—" Ana asks.

"Yes. I'm glad Flynn's not here," I say. "He'd think I put her up to it." Ana dips her head into my shoulder and giggles.

If I was worried before that the horse would buck and rear and take off with my daughter, I was sorely mistaken. The horse is nice and slow—almost painfully slow—making for less dramatics for the ride and more relief for the father.

"Hi Ava!" Phoebe says as she waves to her cousin who's poking her head out of one of the cutout windows.

"Hi Pee-Bee!" Ava waves and the audience laughs.

Phoebe putters on that pony down the lane—and by putters I mean putters. At this rate this show will be finished by New Years.

"That horse really is tame," I whisper to the handler, who's stage-side, looking on.

"Yep," she says. "She's one of our best. She never gets shook up for nothing. Well... unless she sees a rodent. Then she goes crazy." She laughs.

Oh my God—a rodent.

Chester!

In a flash, I'm out to the stage.

I can see Chester poking his head out of Phoebe's pocket. Then, he's on her shoulder. The pony stops.

Nayyyyyy!

"No!" I grab Phoebe and lift her off the horse. In the process, Chester jumps and lands on the back of the horse—claws first.

The pony rears up.

"Chester!" Phoebe calls out and the rodent digs his nails into the horse, gripping its hide. Cupcake Sprinkles takes off, bucking all over the stage as Chester holds on with rodeo skill. He actually looks like he's enjoying all this!

The handler rushes out and fights to grab the reins, but the pony is running back and forth so fast, kicking those styrofoam peanuts and cough drops everywhere, that it's nearly impossible to catch her.

"Daddy! Save Chester!" Phoebe says as I carry her to Ana.

"Okay, baby. Stay here!" I put her down and Ana holds to her as I run after the little horse and the little rat. The audience is gasping, oohing and awing. I think they think this is part of the show!

Tilly did partly get her way—Whipple is fully involved with Revere's Ride now.

Finally, I stand in front of the horse, blocking the path, as the handler grabs her reins. The horse rears and Chester leaps off of her, flying claws first, straight into my neck.

I cry out as he digs those nails into my flesh. Damn, hamster claws are sharp.

The handler trots the pony off stage and Phoebe runs out to pull Chester off of me.

"Oh Chester, are you hurted?" Phoebe cuddles him as I tend to the rodent gashes on my neck. Chester snuggles into her, playing the consummate victim.

The audience is hushed and all on the stage are frozen. The silence finally broken when my grandfather says, "Did the Brit-shits steal Paul Revere's horse?"

#######

The only thing possibly worse than Tilly up on stage today, or having a wild horse on the loose and hamster claws dug into your neck, is Kavanagh singing twelve verses about sewing the flag. I know she's Betsy Ross, and I like the flag as much as the next guy, but I swear it took six of the verses just to get her to the point of actually making a stitch. I thought the talk of fine cottons for a fine, fine country would never fucking end.

" _A needle and a thread runs through it... the red and the white and the blue,"_ she sings. " _A needle and a thread runs through it to stitch America together, true. Our banner waves over fields of grain because a needle and a thread ran through it—for patriots, me and you._

What the hell.

The lights dim and I've either died or the scene has ended—either way it's a relief. Marginal applause assure me it's over.

"Betsy Ross is hot," Elliot says, hooting and hollering, as Kavanagh comes off stage and they immediately start sucking face.

The lights flash again and we're transported to the battlefield of the republic.

"No taxeration without reprearsentation," Teddy shouts and the ominous music we plucked from a war film that Taylor is troublingly overfamiliar with plays as Teddy leads his Minute Men into battle.

" _One, two...buckle our shoes,_ " the Minute Men sing as they march in imperfect formation through the dead of night woods. Fritzy looks like he's either trying to go AWOL or he's fighting a demon that's just possessed him. And his clock's at ten past seven now.

 _Three, four, feet to the floor..._ " They stomp.

Wasn't there a horror movie with this kind of chanting?

They keep marching in circles, signifying they're going deeper and deeper into throes of battle. Maybe Fritzy's just dizzy.

When the lights go up, Elliot and I take our place in history again.

"We must fight for our freedom!" I say and the Minute Men chant the word as they continue their circular march.

"Freedom!" Elliot yells out, like he's fucking Braveheart.

"But, I feel we are lost, without direction..." I say. "We need a leader. Someone who will guide our broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous nights..."

"I know who will lead us?" Elliot says. "Whipple!"

"That's the old script," I say under my breath.

"Oh yeah, they changed that," he says. "Washington!"

"Oh my word!" I hear Tilly say offstage, and there are audible sobs.

Jose comes out to whistles and applause.

What the literal fuck?

"I will do it," the photographer says and the ladies in the audience applaud. There's an odd whistle.

Hell.

"And I will lead the troops to victory." He starts to march and the Minute Men follow him off the stage.

There's silence for several moments while I wait for Elliot to say his line.

"We must go to Philadelphia!" Elliot shouts.

That wasn't it. There were four lines before that! But, fuck it, it moves things along faster.

The scenery is changed, the stage cleared, the Liberty Bell rolled in—and the three stooges of American history come out: Fritzy's dad Haskell as Benjamin Franklin, Suzy Buchanan's father's Divid (yes, that's an i and not a David) as John Adams, and some guy I don't really know that resembles a J.R.R. Tolkien character as Hancock.

We hushedly mock debate as the rest of the signers—kids carrying life-size fountain pens—sing, " _We declare, that everyone is free. We declare, the rights to life and liberty. We declare, that happiness should be for all of we. And so we declare, we have a new coun-turrr-y."_

There's a dance and a theatrical twirling of the pens. Big applause for that number.

"We have the right to fight our oppressors," Haskell says.

"We have the right to reject the king," Buchanan boasts.

"We have the right to our land," Hobbit Guy squeaks out like a duck with asthma. Who is this weirdo? I better have Welch run some additional checks.

A scroll is rolled out by a third grader who's wearing sneakers that don't go with his costume. Although they light up, so they'd match mine.

The forefathers all line up to sign the parchment. After about twenty boring lifetimes of this, I pick up the scroll and read it:

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

Everyone cheers.

The entire cast returns to the stage—including Cherry Tree Taylor—as we sing patriotic tunes. Tilly's beside herself. Only Ana and Kate remain off stage for the grand finale.

"There, overhead, that's what the colors of freedom look like," I say as I point to the heavens. Everyone looks up, anticipating Taylor's bold, bright patriotic fireworks show.

Nothing happens.

We keep singing, waiting.

"Does it look like fog?" my grandfather says.

"What's going on?" I whisper to Taylor, but just as I ask him, there's an explosion of green in the air. Not the most patriotic color, but it's a start. Then an explosion of... orange. Orange? No, maybe that's red. Like a light red with sunny undertones, and maybe the green is just a confused blue... Nope, there's more orange and fucking green!

"Why is it all orange and green?" I ask Taylor, who's turned around, trying to hide that he's talking on his phone—on the stage!

"Sir, there was a mistake," he whispers as he hangs up. "The fireworks were ordered through an Irish company."

"Irish? Who the hell orders fireworks from Ireland?"

"They do lovely holiday explosives, sir."

"This isn't lovely!" Shit, I was too loud. The Minute Men are staring up at me. "I mean, isn't this lovely," I say down to them. They look at me for a moment, but lose interest and focus on the fireworks again.

"It was a miscommunication, sir," Taylor says. "They were told we wanted the colors of the flag. I guess, they assumed their own."

What the fuck? "Well, that really tops off the show—we're celebrating another country's independence."

Thankfully, the kids just like the lights and the parents are all happy from the open bar. I change my mind—always have booze at school functions.

This is the big finale. Kate and Ana carry out the finished flag and I, as noble Whipple, take it from them to hold up, proud.

"We are now the United States of America!" I say, and then put the flag on it's pole. I press my sleeve to light my jacket, and I flash in red, white and blue. The crowd cheers.

I'm a one man electrical parade.

"Daddy, you're so pretty!" Phoebe says with a clap and giggle, which makes me smile. At least this stuff makes my kids happy. That's all that counts. I'm a fool for fatherhood, and a proud one at that.

Ana looks up to the sky as the kids sing some version of _My Country 'Tis of Thee—some_ version. She's so beautiful, pointing to the fireworks as they light her face. Here's the big line she's been waiting for...

"My, oh my, oh my, oh my, ooooooh myyyyyyyy!" she yells out, so passionately. Damn, she went for the dramatic interpretation on that one. "Oh my oh my oh myyyyyy!"

Okay, she's not saying her line anymore.

"Ana, what is it?" I rush to her.

"Christian!" She turns to me, clutching her stomach. "You remember when I promised to tell you if I thought labor was about to begin."

"Yes," I say, alarmed.

"Well, it's definitely happening right now." She holds to her belly as she looks down and my eyes follow.

Holy fuck. There's a puddle of water at her feet— and it ain't the bloody tea.


	19. Chapter 19

**_Thank you for your love and patience! I had put a lot of focus on my Darker story with the movie out. Here's the first of a couple new updates to come. xox_**

Get the boat back to shore!" I call out to Taylor, holding to Ana on stage as she buckles over in the throes of a contraction. "It's okay, baby," I say to her. "I have you."

"I'll alert the captain, sir." Taylor takes off, his branches catching on everything in his way, including Tilly's mother's hairpiece. But, he doesn't stop. That purple tinted skunk clings to his cherries all the way to the wheel of the yacht.

"What happened?" Kavanagh asks, swishing that Betsy Ross skirt of hers our way. She's supposed to have sewn the flag, not worn the flag.

"Her water broke," I say as Ana clutches down on my arm. Hard.

"Her what?" Elliot asks. Is he really that much of an idiot?

"Her water! It broke!" I say, louder and with more pained frustration than I intended. Of course, that's probably also because Ana's nails are digging into the flesh of my arm. And when she does, all the lights on my jacket start flashing again.

"There's a hole in the ship and we're all gonna drownded down the ocean drain in the big flush to the poop bottom!" Fritzy yells out. Whatever the hell he's saying. Him and the toilet water of the sea again.

"Nobody's drowning!" I say. "She's having the babies! Now!"

"Yay! My brothers is coming! My brothers is coming!" Phoebe claps. Better than yelling _Brit-shits_ again.

"Plot twist! Did Whipple really knock Dolly Madison up?" I can hear my grandfather ask from out in the audience.

"No, your grandson did," my grandmother says, giving the old man a swat.

I look out and realize everyone has turned their attention from the explosions of Irish glory in the sky to us on the stage. They think this is part of the play. How can they think this is part of the play? Oh right, open bar.

"The show is over!" I say, waving a hand in announcement and two mothers in the back wave back at me. "Thanks for coming, but America has its independence and everyone can go."

There are gasps and protests from the crowd. General disarray. Mostly around the bar and the nearly pillaged shellfish tower. You throw free vodka and a few crab legs and lobster tails around and these idiots would trade you their first born. That thing is massive—and disgusting, and I won't let Ana or any of the children within ten feet of it. Kavanagh always insists on having a raw bar at these things. She says it's classy. It's probably because she's really a shark and she likes to eat fresh and local.

"But, we're in the middle of the ocean," a horrified Tilly says. She's scanning the audience, I'm sure in search of that phony theatre critic.

"And I haven't had my sex on the beach," some mother calls out, holding up her cocktail. What a disaster.

 _Bang bang bang._

More green explosions popping off in the Seattle sky. How many Irish fireworks have to die for this celebration to?

"We're only a little ways out and we're sailing back to shore," I say. "We need to get Ana to the hospital."

Damn, I knew Ana shouldn't have been up and acting on the boat today. We had this all planned. A C-section on a common Thursday. Nothing bad happens on a Thursday. Especially when it's common.

More and more people are swirling around. How many fucking people did we invite today? I'm wondering where the red coats put those super soakers they used in the show, so I can spray bystanders away.

"Everyone stand back!" I yell out. "Stop aggravating my wife and go stuff your face with crab legs." They disperse quickly in search of claw meat.

"Is it better?" I hold Ana close and kiss her on the head as she lets out a breath, her face tucked into my chest.

She nods. "The contraction is over. I'm okay."

"I need to get you out of this costume and into bed," I say, loosening the tie at her enormously pregnant waist. "I'll take you downstairs to our room."

"No, Christian," Grace says, joined by the rest of the booze cruise quartet and Ray. "You can't do any of that after the water breaks. She needs to stay clean and unobstructed."

"What? Mom, I want her to get into her sweats so she can be comfortable and rest." My mother always thinks I'm trying to get one last one in for the road.

We haven't even been allowed to do any of that! There's been no obstruction for days!

"Christian, if I lie down I won't get back up," Ana says.

"Well, at least sit."

"But, I feel more like pacing."

"Mrs. Grey, what did we learn with Phoebe about gravitational pull and your multi-impregnated uterus?"

"What did we learn, Daddy?" Phoebe asks, scrunching her nose as she looks up at me.

"That neither of you do as you're told."

Ana acquiesces and I lead her to the rocker Betsy Ross used to sew the flag in. Of course Kate's ass has glittered it all up. It's like she rolled around in a sty full of metallic stars, otherwise called her marital bed. She's the living, breathing holiday aisle at Walmart.

"Ana, I can't believe you broke your water!" Kavanagh says. "I thought you were just a really good actress."

"Or you loved fireworks," Elliot says.

 _Bang bang bang._

Where the fuck is Taylor?!

"How do you break water?" Teddy asks.

"You could break it if it was frozen," Fritzy says. "I did it before with a hammer for fun when my mom made grown-up punch for her lady toy party."

"What's a lady toy party?" Teddy asks.

"Dolls!" I say fast.

"I want a lady toy party!" Phoebe screams out with her arms held high.

Oh Lord.

"Kids, take Mrs. Jones to get your mother some blankets from one of the bedrooms."

"Is she cold because her water's frozen?" Teddy asks.

"Yes."

Gail leads them all off. I kneel beside Ana and take her hands, warming them between my palms and with my breath.

"Christian, I'm not really cold."

"I'm not risking your being chilled in this sea air. Plus, I feel more productive if you're wrapped in blankets and I'm breathing on you."

"Ana, my baby, are you really in labor?" Carla asks, pushing forward. I roll my eyes. No, this is all a ruse to get the idiots off our boat.

"Yes, but I'm fine," Ana says. "Don't worry. You all are going to be grandparents again before you know it." She looks over at Mom and Dad, Bob, and Ray.

"Hot dog, my grandsons are coming on Independence Day!" Ray says. At least he's not drunk, he just appears that way in his Yankee Doodle costume. He actually has a big piece of macaroni in his hat. I thought it was a feather they just called macaroni and not actual dried pasta. And that's quite large for macaroni, it's more like manicotti. "My favorite holiday, did you all know that?"

"Yes," everyone says in unison.

"I remember the day you were born," Carla says, clutching Ana's hand and kneeling as she starts to sob. "Your father was so proud...he was the best man I've ever known— the love of my life. No one could compare."

This little love letter would be sweet if her second husband and current husband weren't looking on.

"And the pain, was so horrible! I nearly bled to death right on that table after they sliced me open. I vowed never to give birth again—"

"Thank you, Carla," I say, sternly. Thank God she wasn't around in the delivery room for the first two.

"Oh Ana, Christian, I'm so proud," Grace says and weeps into Carrick's shoulder. "We're going to have new grandbabies to call us Grand-pa-pa and Grand-ma-ma again."

She's hammered. No one calls them that.

"Dad, are you okay?" I ask as he wipes his eye.

"Having new grandsons reminds me of that song Jose sang about his father." He sniffs. "It really got to me."

Jose Senior gives him an appreciative nod and my father puts an arm around him.

That song was for George Washington's father, not Jose Senior!

Wait, where the fuck did Jose Senior just appear from? His whole existence is like one of those trick photos they put on the the internet, where you have to examine a normal family snapshot closely to see a hidden demon in between Granny and Cousin Idiot.

Speaking of appearances from demons and Cousin Idiot, the photographer is coming over. His swagger and smile are different now that he's found his calling on the stage. He's been signing autographs for sex starved mom's out in the crowd. Next thing you know he'll be hawking quill tip pens and father and son signed CD's on his Instagram account.

"Ana! Dios Mio!" he says. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, don't worry about me, everyone. I've been through this before."

"Not with two at once," I say.

"Christian's right," Jose says. I hate it when he calls me that. "I would take pictures, but I put my camera away for the theatre today." He's serious about this shit. He's even talking with a weird slightly British accent. The kind that's less English and more bullshit. This happens to American actors when the stick up their ass has reached their throat. What the fuck would he take pictures of right now anyway? The puddle? Her pain? And they call me a fucking sadist.

"Thank God for small favors," I mutter, but Ana hears me and nudges my arm in admonishment.

There's a pop in the sky and more orange and green rain down.

"Why are the fireworks green?" Elliot asks. He's just noticing this.

"Green is an early patriotic color," I say.

"Like for money?" he asks and I roll my eyes.

"That's how Wall Street was invented," I say.

"Really... cool."

What an idiot.

Where the fuck is Taylor?!

Phoebe and Teddy run up with their blankets. From the looks of it, Ana's about to hibernate for winter.

"I bringed you my bluest one so my brothers would feel good to see their color." Phoebe says.

"I have my Seahawks one. They could get happy to be with the winning team right at the beginning of their life," Teddy says.

"Very nice, kids," I say. I think the kids have misunderstood and think the babies will be born directly into these blankets. Oh God, that could happen if we don't get this boat back.

"Daddy," Phoebe says, tugging on my sleeve. "I bringed my doctors kit, so I could keep check on my brothers and pop-a-rate on Mommy if she gets too hurty." She pulls out the stethoscope and snugs the mirror onto her head.

"Okay, Dr. Grey, you keep watch," I say and she nods.

"Thank you, Phoebe and Teddy," Ana says and kisses each of their cheeks as I work to cover her properly.

"You, too Daddy," Ana says. "But, it's a little warm." Oh shit, I've mummified her in the things. I remove a little.

Suddenly, the boat jolts and stops and everyone gasps, looking around in panic.

The engine has stopped.

"Ahhhh!" Phoebe screams and jumps on me, nearly pummeling me over in my kneeled position, and wraps her arms around my neck. She's got her toy scalpel in hand and nearly stabs through my head.

"Cool, it's gonna be like the Titanic!" Teddy says.

"Iceberg dead ahead!" Fritzy calls out and they start running around like crazy, Fritzy playing attacking evil iceberg and Teddy playing the ship.

What the fuck was that jolt about?

"Christian, why did it do that?" Ana asks as I try to remove the arms of our daughter from around my neck. I hope she has this good of chokehold with boys in high school.

"Daddy, did we crash?" Phoebe asks.

"No baby, listen to me." Phoebe finally lets go and I hold to her and take Ana'a hand. "It's fine. You guys are safe. I will always make sure of that. They're just changing course, so we can get _The Grace_ back to the dock."

"Dude, that felt wrong," Elliot says.

"What do you know about boats?" I glare at him.

"That they shouldn't stop fast and then not move."

"Well, I know about boats. We're fine." I kiss Phoebe on the head and squeeze Ana's hand.

But, he's right. Why aren't we moving? We haven't even turned? We're just stopped—dead in the water.

"I don't know, Christian. It seems weird." Kavanagh says.

"Yeah, it's rather odd," Jose says. The way he says _rather_ makes me want to make a photographer sandwich between my fists. Inside it's all ham and cheese.

"Everyone just calm down," I say. "The boat will move shortly. You're stressing Ana out. She needs focus and calm."

"I'm not stressed out," she says.

"Well, I need calm and focus, then," I say. "So, everyone be focused and calm!"

"Ana, do you need some lemonade?" Mia says.

"Lemonade?" I ask. What the hell?

"A sip might be nice," Ana says.

"That's highly ill advised, Mrs. Grey," I say. "The acid and sugar could do numbers on your digestive system."

"If I'm popping two babies out and I can't have a sip of lemonade, I may do a number on you!"

Damn. Let the raging hormones begin.

"Noted," I say.

"I'll get it," Mia says.

"I'll come with you, my lady," Jose says. The fucker.

"Uncle Jose, can we get lem-o-lade with you?" Phoebe asks.

"Yeah, please Uncle Jose!" Ava says.

Why are they asking him and not their fathers?

"Sure kids, come on," Jose says and they follow.

"Make sure it isn't spiked!" I call after them. "I mean for Ana, not the kids! Well, the kids, either!" I clench my fists. "Sober lemonade for all!" I yell and heads turn.

"Boo!" a passing mom yells back.

"You were right," Ana says to me as I kneel before her again, taking her hand and bringing it to my lips.

"You won't drink that acidic mess of lemon bullshit after all?" I kiss her knuckles.

"No, about me going into labor. The nesting." She looks up at me. "How did you know?"

"Ana, I know your body better than anyone, including you." I lean in and kiss her forehead.

"You know your mother says you shouldn't try and turn me on." She smiles.

"For the only time in our history, I'm not." I kiss her nose.

"I'm scared Christian," Ana says, and her eyes are tearing up.

"About the boat? Oh baby, it's fine. I'll make sure of it." I wipe away a tear with my thumb.

"No, having two. It's going to be a lot. What if I'm not a good enough mother?"

"You're already the best mother!"

"But, what if I don't have enough time for everyone?"

"We'll do it together, baby." I stroke her hair. "Like always."

"Always," she whispers, a grin spreading across her beautiful face, and I kiss her lips softly.

"Sir," Taylor says, peeking out from across the deck and motioning for me to come over to him.

Fucking finally!

"Hold on a for a moment, Mrs. Grey." I kiss her again and motion for Kavanagh, who's sucking the meat out of a crab leg in between sucking face with my brother, to watch her.

"I was about to send a search team out for you," I say to Taylor as I walk up.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir."

"Why aren't we moving?"

"I talked to the captain, sir."

"Good. Why aren't we moving?"

"There's a problem, Mr. Grey."

"Yes, my wife's water just broke and why aren't we fucking moving?"

"This boat goes so fast!" Haskel says, tequila in one hand, shrimp in the other, as he looks off the side. "It's so damn fast it feels still!"

Oh my God.

"Sir, there's an electrical issue," Taylor says.

"What does that mean?" I swear, it takes him eight fucking sentences to spit out one!

"It means he can't get us back to shore until he fixes it. Something or other is blown."

"Something or other? Well, what the fuck is it—the something or the other?"

"At the moment it's neither. I'm not quite sure, sir, but we can't get to shore—"

"The shore is right there!" I point. "It's literally right the fuck there. If I could walk on water it would be an afternoon stroll."

"Yes, but we still have to sail back and dock, since none of us have developed that skill."

"Are you being comedic?"

"No, sir."

"I didn't think so. How long will this take to fix?"

"He hopes quickly, Mr. Grey."

"He hopes?! Quickly isn't a time frame. It's an excuse."

"I'll work with him, sir. Don't worry, she's probably just at the beginning of labor. We'll get this." He heads back.

"Taylor!" I call out to him and he turns expectantly. "Take off your fucking branches!"

"Oh yes, sir."

I'm pissed as I move back to Ana, but I can't let it show. I have to put on my happy face.

"Dude, you look like you're the one sucking on lemon," Elliot says, referencing my smile.

I see Mia and Jose have brought the lemonade and they're helping her sip through a straw. I'm sure the photographer is loving watching her suck.

"Not too much," I say and give him a pointed look. He backs off. Ana rolls her eyes, but thankfully she doesn't rip into me over it.

"Why aren't we moving?" Elliot asks.

"Because we're reversing course. It takes a minute to reverse course," I snap, trying to hush him up so Ana and the kids don't get frightened.

"It's been like twenty," Elliot says and I glare.

"Daddy, I think there is a puppy in Mommy's tummy, too," Phoebe says as she puts her stethoscope up to Ana's belly and listens with her eye. "And I think that my brothers are giving her to me."

"Really, well that will be a surprise to Chester," I say.

The rodent pops out of her coat, giving me all sorts of _fuck you_ hand language and squeak obscenities. He's now wearing an American flag top hat that has tinsel fireworks shooting off of it. Gail is really a talent at rodent costuming. Well, Taylor is her husband, after all.

All this waiting is making me nervous.

"Ana, just relax," I order.

"I am."

"Good. Keep it going. I need to call Dr. Greene."

I step away and take out my phone and dial.

"Yes, Mr. Grey?" she answers. Why does she sound so pissed off? She's sitting Fourth of July poolside thanks to me. We have a strange relationship. Although Ana doesn't buy my theories, I know Dr. Greene secretly fucks with Ana's birth control to keep her pregnant so the checks keep coming, and I not so secretly love her for it. In a million years, I never would've dreamed I'd be in a codependent relationship with my OBGYN.

"Well, hello to you, too," I say. "I'm sorry to intrude on your backyard vacation time. How's Reginald?"

"Ronald."

"Right." That husband.

"It's the Fourth of July," she says. I can almost hear that husband in the background slurping his mai tai and sucking back grapes, his chest hair rustling in the wind of the fan blades as he basks in the joys of unemployment.

"Yes, I realize that as I'm standing here in a colonial wig and tights celebrating. But, my twin sons didn't get the memo to take the day off."

"What are you saying, Mr. Grey?"

"Ana's water broke!"

"Are you sure?"

"What do you mean am I sure? I saw it spill out all under her feet. She then screamed out in pain. She's in labor."

"How close are the contractions?"

"I don't know. She's only had one."

"Oh God!" Ana screams out, bloody murder, and the boat falls silent.

"Make that two. And they're a little too close together for comfort! What are we supposed to do?"

"Stay calm, keep her comfortable and make sure nothing foreign goes up her vagina."

"Nothing domestic has gone up there for days thanks to you, either." I swear, these women think I'm an animal.

"Alright, why don't you head to the hospital. I'll meet you there."

"We have to get off the boat first."

"The boat?"

"Yes, the boat. Remember, we were out on our boat, for the school play. The one you approved!"

"I thought you weren't going far out."

"We didn't. There's an electrical issue. They have to fix it before we can dock. But, I can see the dock."

I can also see that moron Taylor hired setting off more fucking fireworks! I wave my hand in the air at him to cut that shit out, but I guess he mistakes it for me telling him to do more. Soon the sky is filled with explosions and a haze of green and orange fog.

"How long will it take?" Dr. Greene asks.

"I don't have an ETA right now. I'll let you know when we get to shore." I hang up.

"Christian!" Ana calls and I run to be by her side again.

"These contractions are too strong!" she says.

"Don't worry, baby. We'll get you there. Nothing to worry about. Just changing course."

"We were changing course a half hour ago," Ana says, suspiciously.

"Yeah, why isn't the boat moving?" Kavanagh asks.

"Why are there still fireworks going off?" Elliot asks.

"I don't know!"

 _Bang bang bang._

"Are we okay, Daddy?" Phoebe asks.

"Yes, baby. Don't worry about a thing." I kneel to give her a hug. "Daddy has everything under control. Why don't you have Gail get you and Chester and the other kids cookies from the kitchen?"

"Can I bring my brothers one?"

"Sure, Princess." I kiss her head and Chester pops out again and snarls. I think she's painted his little nails electric blue.

"Okay, Daddy! I'll get sugar sprinkles!" She runs off and I see she finds Gail.

"Everything is fine," I whisper to my brother and Kavanagh, turning so Ana can't hear. "There's just a small electrical problem,"

"Electrical problem?" Kavanagh asks. "On water?"

"Oh shit, are we all going to be electrocuted, man?" Elliot asks.

"There aren't open wires on the water. It's to do with the engine."

"The engine doesn't work?" Mia asks, walking up with the photographer.

"I've worked on my great grandma's cars, I could help," Jose says. He's just feeling all manned up after his George Washington testosterone infusion. Why not beat his chest with motor work?

"It's fine. They're just tuning up a little issue and we'll be on our way. We're only a hop skip and a jump away from shore. Just don't get Ana upset!"

"Christian, I can hear you," she says. "I'm pregnant, not deaf!" She moans out in pain and I rush to her side.

"It's going to be fine, baby," I say as she clamps down on my hand, squeezes, then twists it into a position that's not natural for the human form, until she finally drops it when her pain subsides.

"Sir," Taylor calls out to me again. Oh good, his branches are gone and he's just in his moody brown poetry reading getup again.

"See, Taylor's calling me right now, it's probably all taken care of," I say to Ana and then give her a kiss on the head, before rushing over to him.

"Is it fixed?" I ask Taylor upon arrival.

"Not quite, sir."

"What is going on with this guy? I know everything about this boat. I'm going to help."

"Do you know how to purchase new plugs, get them delivered out onto the water on a holiday and put them in immediately, sir?"

"Yes, it's called money!" I look around. "This is bullshit. I'm talking to this captain. I'll give this hotshot a piece of my mind.

#######

This hotshot must be eighty—at least. More shot and less hot. He looks like one of my grandfather's poker buddies. The kind that plays for Cheetos at the retirement pavilion and asks you to pull his finger for laughs.

"The electrics aren't very good right now," Captain Al says. I wonder if there was a time he was alive when electricity wasn't a thing.

"What are you saying?" I ask.

"What?" He cups his ear.

"What. Are. You. Saying?" I ask louder.

"Speak up. I can't hear what you're saying."

"Taylor," I say, under my breath, though I'm sure Al couldn't hear me if I was talking regular. "Why is a man who belongs in a nursing home captaining my ship?"

"Because your regular co-captain was on vacation, and you said we could only hire very old men with problems in their basement to man the helm when Mrs. Grey was present."

"But, that's when I was driving the thing, too, and all I needed was backup. Today was a full deal!"

"It was only a pleasure cruise, a short way out. Much less than you normally do, sir."

"Well, we're a short way out and stuck."

"Back in Korea, we had an electrical incident like this..." Captain Al says.

"Oh yeah? And?"

"Yeah." And he says no more.

Oh my God.

"He's actually a decorated naval captain, sir," Taylor says. "He's extremely proficient and skilled. Except for times like this. He's not a gadget man, but he's wicked with manual efforts."

"I don't even want to know what that fucking means." I hold up a hand. "Taylor, I'm not taking this anymore. Let's get the lifeboat, load Ana and the kids and I inside, and I'll get us to shore."

"It's at the dock, Mr. Grey."

"Why is it there?"

"We took Tidwiler to the hospital in it, sir."

"Well, bring it back!"

"No one's there to drive it. Sawyer took him to the emergency and he's still there."

"What? Why?"

"He decided to stay until his next of kin arrrived."

"His next of kin is getting shitfaced on this boat!" I saw that wife doing shots with Carla and my mother.

"Forget Sawyer," I say. "Get someone back here to do it! And have them bring the necessary items to fix the boat."

"Yes, sir."

I race back up and over to Ana.

"Christian, why do you look so worried?" Ana asks.

"What? Why do you say that?"

"You're suspicious of something. Your brow is raised."

"No, Ana. My wig's just glued wrong."

"Are we moving yet?" my mother asks.

"No, you're just swaying," I say.

"Me, too," Carla says and they giggle.

"Sir," Taylor says, rushing up to me and motioning for me to step aside.

"What, do you have it figured out?" I ask as we convene at the back corner of the upper deck. "Did you get someone else to come out here?"

"Not yet, I just spoke to Sawyer, sir."

"Well, is he coming now?"

"No, he's still with Tidwiler."

"Well, tell him to leave his drunk ass and get over here!"

"He isn't intoxicated, sir."

"Well, I hope the fuck not. He's security."

"Not Sawyer, Tidwiler."

"What?"

"They think he's ill. From shellfish."

"Is he allergic?"

"No. Food poisoning."

"What are you saying?"

"The seafood tower, sir."

I look to the icy mess, deplete of all the offerings of the sea it hosted before.

All of the raw, in the sun all day offerings of the sea...

"Oh God! I'm going to be sick!" a woman yells and starts to vomit right on the planks at her feet.

"Eww, I feel sick," Kavanagh says, just below us on the lower deck.

"Maybe you're pregnant," Elliot says and she swats him, before running for the bathroom. He follows her.

"Dios Mio!" Jose says and starts to gag over a potted plant in the far corner.

Holy fuck.

"Are you telling me everyone on this boat who ate from that thing is about to be sick?" I ask Taylor.

"If the trend continues, sir."

And all at once, the pillaged shellfish tower starts to make a reappearance on the planks.

Again and again and again...

 ** _To be continued..._**


	20. Chapter 20

**_Sorry for the delay on this! But, they're finally here! Thank you all for the love and reviews for this story! And since it's Easter weekend you can re-visit the chapters The Wizard of Paas and Who's Your Bunny, if you want, for holiday fun. xox_**

Mutiny. It's all the word I have to describe what's happening on this boat as Ana's contractions threaten to deliver our bounty on the planks of the deck our guests are delivering the contents of their stomachs on. I'd imagine something like this did go on in revolutionary America. Like when passengers set sail for the new world and there was an outbreak of small pox or big pox or whatever sized pox were in fashion in the day. This is like some post theatrical apocalyptic nightmare—a new dead president vomiting around every corner.

And the Irish fireworks are still going off! I thought the Irish brought luck!

"Ana!" I call out as I run back to her, with Taylor on my heels. I find her tucked away in the corner I left her in, surrounded by the parental booze cruise quartet and my grandparents, and they're all staring at her like she's a bomb timed and set to explode. "Ana, come with me. I need to get you to our bedroom."

"Christian, I told you!" Grace says.

"Mother, please. For the last time, your son is not a sex maniac!"

Everyone stops and stares, like who are you fooling. Yes, even my mother. And especially Carla... and Bob. How embarrassing.

"We haven't started moving yet." Ana motions to shore as I try to lift her up. _Try_ being the operative word. It's so operative it did surgery on itself and declared the time of death.

"I know, that's why you need to help me." I grunt, my lower back spasming. "We need to go down below."

"Why?"

I need to get her away from this mess while we wait for help, but I don't want to stress her out that her best friend poisoned the entire ship.

"It's more comfortable in bed," I say.

"But, I'm comfortable here. It's a quiet corner," she says.

Not once the traveling plague finds out there are three plants back here with deep pots.

"She had another contraction while you stepped away," Grace says. "We really need to get her to shore."

"Trust me, it's happening," I say. "Once things get moving nothing will stop us."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Grace says.

"Hey Christian, Annie Girl, there's an awful long line at the bathroom," Ray says, clutching his stomach as he approaches. "Is there a private one I can get to real quick?"

"Oh God, has it hit you, too?" I ask, my panic ill contained as I run a hand through my hair and pull. Then I realize it's my wig and I've pulled the flesh of my eye. Fuck that glue is strong!

"Yeah, pretty bad. All of a sudden I felt it."

"I'm so sorry, Ray," I say.

"That's okay," he says. "I mean, I expected it, but a little later."

"A little later?" I ask, confusion furrowed in my brow.

"I guess that fancy lemonade was just too good. I sure surprised my bladder." He laughs

He's not sick?

"You're just urinating?" I ask. "Nothing else? You're sure?"

"Yeah, I guess," Ray says. "I mean, sometimes number two surprises me."

"You and me both!" my grandfather says with a laugh.

"Christian, what do you mean?" Ana asks. "What did you think hit him? And why are you asking my father about his bathroom habits?"

"Uh... All the alcohol out here on the water. With the sun beating down and the waves... I just want to make sure he's not feeling the effects from all that."

"I didn't drink alcohol today," Ray says.

"We did," Grace and Carla say in unison and giggle like school girls.

"But, we don't feel a thing," Carla says.

"I kind of feel like I'm riding a wave," my father says, mimicking either a surfer or a hula dancer, or probably both.

"Did any of you enjoy the buffet we had? The seafood, per chance?" I ask, trying to sound casual. But, from a guy who thinks dressing for casual Fridays is taking off his jacket at lunch, it's not going well.

"I had two hot dogs..." Ray says. "Maybe four."

"Nuts," Bob says. "I love cashews." He complimented me on the cashews on the jet, too. Weird. He has an odd predilection for my nuts.

"We forgot to eat," Grace says.

"Oh no we didn't," Carla says. "We had the salad bar." She shows off her half empty Bloody Mary.

"Oh that's right," Grace says. "Lettuce and tomato." She points to the stalk sticking out the top.

"That's celery, Mom," I say and they all laugh.

"So, for polling purposes, nobody enjoyed crab or shrimp or clams?" I ask and the group shakes their heads.

"The last time I ate a clam was on my wedding night," my grandfather says with a cackle. My grandmother immediately swats him.

Thank God! Never have I been so grateful that Ray only eats processed meat and Ana's mother is practically an alcoholic with peer pressure leadership skills.

"Christian, is there something wrong with the seafood?" Ana asks, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Yes, terrible mercury levels." I work to get her up again. "Taylor come help me!"

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Of course I'm sure! Why wouldn't I be sure?"

"Because I'd have to touch her, sir."

I stop. Suddenly, I'm not so sure.

Fuck it. Desperate times.

"Above the elbows and below the neck and nothing in the middle," I order and he scrambles over. He works on her left while I work on her right, and already I don't like the sound of where this thought train is headed.

"Dad, Uncle Elliot just puked into your popcorn bowl," Teddy says, as he and Phoebe run up with Gail following close behind.

Fuck. Movie night will never be the same again.

"And Miss Tilly says that she's never ever ever gonna eat again," Phoebe says. "Ever."

I stop my efforts and look to the sky to check for pigs flying, but it's just more Irish fireworks.

"Elliot's sick?" my mother asks.

"Christian, did he eat rotten fish?" Ana asks, brow raised.

"On a nightly basis," I say and she gives me a glare of reprimand. "Oh, you know Elliot. He just had a little too much."

"Too much what?" Teddy asks.

"Fun," I say.

"You barfy if you have too much fun?" Phoebe asks and the kids look horrified.

"Only if you don't listen to your father."

"It's true," Carrick says. "Elliot never listens to me." He chuckles.

"I thought you guys were in the entertainment room," I say to Gail.

"We were, sir. Until your brother ran in and grabbed your bowl."

Oh my God.

Thank Mary, Joseph and the angels on high that Gail is allergic to shellfish and Taylor rarely enjoys food.

"Okay, take them and Ava to the kids' playroom and lock it."

"Yes, sir," she says.

"I don't wanna go play. I wanna watch the action," Teddy says, clapping his hands together and rubbing them like I do when I'm ready to rip apart a company.

"Yeah, me too!" Phoebe says, doing the same clap. My children mimicking my cutthroat business mannerisms really touches me.

"There's plenty of action in those video games of yours," I say.

"Yeah, but they skip in weird parts and they say funny things nobody else in my class has heard them say," Teddy says. He's right. I had Barney have someone re-do the games so all violence is removed and message statements are added, like: stay in school, math is fun and don't hit your sister. Although, now that Phoebe's older, I really need to add: don't use closed fists on your brother.

"It's because it's the special version straight from Mario at Nintendo," I say.

"You know Mario?" Phoebe asks, awed.

"Who do you think I visited in Tokyo last fall?" I say with a smile.

"What about Fritzy?" Teddy asks.

"What about him?"

"Can he come to our playroom if Phoebe gets to bring a friend?"

"Who's her friend?"

"Ava."

"That's your cousin!"

"But, she's not my friend."

"Fine. Get Fritzy."

"I don't want to miss my brothers being born," Phoebe says. "I made glitter crowns so we could make them real princes right away." Chester pops up out of her pocket wearing one. He looks like Biggie Smalls on that album cover.

"I promise you won't miss anything, Princess." I pet her head. "But, Mommy needs to rest first."

"I love you guys," Ana says and kisses them both. Even in the throes of labor she still combs their hair with her fingers and wipes some smudge off of Teddy's cheek before Gail wrangles them up and off they go. She's always a mother. And that still moves me like nothing else.

"What's wrong?" Ana asks. She must see the emotion in my eyes.

"Not a thing," I say, and smile. "Except you're not downstairs. Come on, Mrs. Grey." After some effort, Taylor and I finally get her to standing. "I'll take you while Taylor goes to check on something."

"What something, sir?"

"Everything!"

"Right away, sir. I'll keep you abreast." He takes off. Talk about abreast, her right one is gloriously pillowing my rib cage.

Concentrate Grey! Six more weeks!

"Oh God!" Ana cries out, clutching her belly.

"Don't worry. Just breathe, baby." I mimic the Lamaze techniques. She attempts them, but then moans out again. We've gone through this twice before and every time it's proven to me that breathing is bullshit.

I'm doing my best navigating attempt to get her through all this mess, but it's getting harder and harder to hide the carnage.

"Where's Kate?" she asks, now wrapping an arm so snug around my neck I fear asphyxiation, but also sort of welcome it.

"Probably tending to Elliot." After tending to herself.

I move fast past Mrs. Norman who has her head halfway down a sixteen quart pot.

"And what's wrong with Mrs. Norman?" Ana asks.

"She's got the personality of a short stemmed mushroom and embezzles PTA prizes." That auction last spring was a disgrace. Seventeen spa certificates that she was just "babysitting" for the night. Yeah, well, some "kids" were missing for role call in the morning.

"Her head is stuck in a pot," Ana says.

"I told you that months ago."

We pass a bathroom. It looks like a line at a nightclub. Except if everyone had to line up the next morning.

I finally get her to the mouth of the stairway unscathed. Hell, helping a woman nine months pregnant with twins down the stairs in a boat while wearing colonial underwear is no easy task.

And of course I'm all lit up again. But, I think half my right sleeve blew out.

"Christian, I told you I don't want to lie down," Ana says as I finally get her to the bed in the master suite and sit her down on it.

"You need peace and quiet. Zen deliveries yield infants with better sleep schedules and a more relaxed outlook on life."

"Where did you read that?"

"Zen Twins. It's a favorite new title of mine."

"I want you to tell me the truth," she says.

"It is the truth. Zen Twins was written by actual twin brain surgeons who are masters in Tai Chi."

"Not about the book," she says with an eye roll off the charts of the Richter scale. "People got food poisoning from that seafood tower, didn't they?"

"Who told you?"

"It doesn't take a brain surgeon who does Tai Chi to figure it out."

"Ok, yes, but they'll all be fine."

"I feel terrible people are sick. What can we do?"

"You can do nothing but lie here, Mrs. Grey. Help is on the way. Taylor's making sure of it."

Where the fuck is he with my update? I've been waiting nearly six minutes. Maybe six and a half.

"Why are we still not moving, Christian?" It kills me that I can't stop her worry.

I take her hand and stroke it as I sit next to her on the bed. "I told you. They're just fixing a little electrical problem. We'll be headed for the dock and you'll be at the hospital before you know it."

"You keep telling me this—"

"And I keep believing it." With angsty desperation, I sigh. "Ana, you know I'm trying everything."

"I know... but what if we don't get off in time?"

"Don't think like that! We need to think positively." And keep our minds busy on tasks. Yes, tasks distract. I lived twenty-seven years with that as my mantra. Until a girl who had fallen on her knees at my office door had distracted me more.

I eye her dress and think of a task. "You need to get changed out of your costume. You can't very well have the babies dressed as Dolly Madison."

I reach into Ana's drawers. Her actual drawers, not her panties, and I grab a change of clothing for her.

"Here," I say, handing her the sweatsuit I bought her a month or so back. Why has she kept it out here on the boat? She should be wearing this ensemble regularly, and out in public.

"I'm not putting these on," she says, looking at them with a scowl.

"Why not?"

She holds the shirt up over her belly. It reads: _Property of Grey Enterprises Holdings,_ with the GEH logo and two rattles, plus an arrow pointing down.

"It's cute," I say. "Lets everyone know the babies belong to me."

"It lets everyone know something else belongs to you, too." She points to the arrow at the bottom of her belly. "It's pointed straight at my good girl."

She's right. That arrow is awfully low.

"Your good girl?" I smirk. "Yes, she's a very good girl. I miss her already."

"I'm serious!"

"So am I! Everyone will know that belongs to me, too."

"Honestly, Christian."

"It's either that or this." I hold up a see-thru red lace ensemble. "Now, I would definitely enjoy this. But, Doctor Greene and the hospital staff might not—"

"You are unreal!" She shakes her head as she grabs the sweats from me.

I help her stand and unlace her from her corset. No wonder she went into labor. This thing is entirely too snug. It's like serving our babies with an eviction notice.

"Oh God!" Ana cries out, clutching her belly again as she finishes putting on the shirt.

"It's okay baby, just breathe." I hold to her, wrapping my arms around her from behind and stroking her stomach.

"Christian, I can't."

"Can't what?"

"Do this," she pants.

"You're okay baby. I've got you." I hold her until it's over and then lead her back onto the bed, where I prop us both into a cuddle.

"Do you remember the first time you brought me here?" she asks after she finally relaxes into me.

"I believe you had your wicked way with me."

"Yes, I believe I did." She grins up at me. "I was so surprised by how pretty everything was. You had all those flowers and seashells. The wooden apples... I think Phoebe took a few to play grocery store."

"Yes, you're right. She charged me fifty bucks a pop. And when I said that's too expensive for apples, she told me they were organic and from Whole Foods."

"She's a smart business woman." Ana giggles.

"She is. She wouldn't let me give her play money, either." I laugh. "She's going to run things one day."

"I think she already does."

"True, Mrs. Grey. Like her mother." I smile and my lips press against the side of her forehead.

"I do love that you're mine, baby," I murmur against her temple as I stroke her belly. "That you've always been only mine."

"I know." She pets my arm that is wrapped around her. "I love that you're mine, too."

"No, I don't think I tell you enough. The fact that it's only ever been me for you isn't a privilege I take lightly." I kiss her hair.

She cocks her head up. "Christian..."

"It's true. You don't know how much it's done for me knowing that, after all these years, I've been the only one and I've been enough for you."

"Enough?" she asks, perplexed. "You've been so much more than enough."

"You gave me more, Ana. You have given me absolutely everything." She leans up and I kiss her.

There's a knock at the door. I get up to answer it.

"Who is it?" I call out. I'm not letting any drifters in to use our John.

"Sir, good news," Taylor says through the door and I immediately open it, just poking my head out so Ana won't hear anything that could stress her.

"You've fixed the boat?" I whisper.

"No, the hospital who has Tidwiler says the food poisoning isn't that bad. Should clear up within hours," Taylor whispers back.

"Well, that's good. But, I've got dozens of people out there hacking their guts up who got sick way after him." Tidwiler must've swiped an early bite. I saw him lurking around the roped off buffet before the show.

"Yes, but none that will require serious medical attention."

"I need the attention for my wife!"

"Argh!" Ana cries out again. I slam the door and race to hold her through another contraction. She needs my limbs to squeeze and I willingly provide, but I tell you, afternoons with Elena were less excruciating than this. Once she's finished, I flex my hand to make sure it still has blood flow and mobility, and then run to open the door again. Taylor's in the same position I left him in. As if there was any doubt.

"We've alerted the authorities and emergency medical services that we're in distress, sir," Taylor says, not missing a beat. "They're on their way."

"When will they be here?"

"That's the bad news."

"Bad news? You didn't tell me there was bad news! You just said you had good news."

"Well, good news usually comes with bad, I find."

"Well, I find people ask if you want to hear the bad or the good first. I wasn't given options!"

"I am sorry, sir."

"Well, what is it?"

"The bad or the good?"

"The bad, then the good. Always the good last!"

"There was a pleasure cruise incident. A firework from a show misfired at quite a length, hit the deck and caused a fire. No one was seriously hurt, but they had to evacuate."

"That's the bad news?"

"Not quite. It turns out it could've been one of our fireworks that hit. They haven't confirmed it, but partiers saw a streak of orange light the sky."

Damn Irish fireworks! They're getting their revenge.

"So, that's the bad news?"

"Not quite. Emergency services are all backed up and unable to get here right away."

"Well, when will they get here?"

"Unforeseen, sir. That's the bad news."

I clench my fist and tap my foot.

"Where the fuck is Sawyer?" I ask.

"Driving back. But it's holiday traffic, sir. There's a parade downtown."

"Get my mother, Carla and Ray," I say.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"To sit with Ana while we work."

"Work, sir?"

"I'm sick of this bull shit. I'm taking matters into my own hands. Someone needs to jump ship, swim back to shore and bring the rescue boat back so we can take Ana back to shore and get her to the hospital."

"You can't do that, sir."

"Of course I can't. But, I know someone who can."

"Who, sir?"

########

"Sir, I'm not sure this is the best laid plan," Taylor says as he climbs down the side in a pair of my swim trunks I had stashed away here. I'm secretly delighted the crotch is way too loose for him. It's tight for me.

"It's right fucking there, Taylor." I point to the dock. You've swam more in your bathtub." It's true. He and Gail have a really big and aggressively bubbly jacuzzi bath.

"Oh my god!" a dad yells out and I turn. "Someone's going to jump!"

The people that aren't too sick or inebriated gather around. Actually, I take that back, they're all too sick or inebriated, but no one wants to miss the show.

"Don't do it!" Haskell yells out. "Life's too precious." Haskell is both sick and inebriated, in addition to ass flesh stupid.

"He's not jumping!" I say. "Why would he change into a swimsuit before he off's himself."

"To leave his good clothes to family," Haskell says.

"He's getting the boat over there!" I say and point.

"Why?" Haskell asks.

"Haskell, go to the bathroom, look in the mirror and ask yourself that question while thinking of your mother's choice to have sex with your father nine months before you were born."

"I can't. It's jammed."

I shake my head. Idiot.

"So there's no chance he'll jump?" some other dad asks.

"No."

"Turn the channel, this show's a dud," he says and the rest of the crowd dissipates.

Reality television has destroyed humanity.

Taylor jumps from the ladder and laps across the sound. I'm quite impressed with his skill and ease in the water. He's making record time.

"Good going, Taylor!" I call out as he reaches the boat and grabs onto the edges. He waves in acknowledgement and then climbs up and inside where he spends a considerable length of time looking around.

"Taylor, come on!" I say and motion with my hands for him to return.

I think he's about to drive the boat back, when instead he dives back into the water and starts swimming toward me again.

"You forgot the boat!" I yell. But, he keeps on swimming.

"What the hell are you doing? Why didn't you get the boat?" I ask when he arrives to the side again and climbs up the ladder.

"Sir, I couldn't." He shakes his mop and inadvertently sprays me.

"Why, what's wrong with it? Don't tell me it's not working, too."

"Oh, it's working perfectly, sir."

"Then what the fuck is the problem?"

"The problem is that your staff is excellent and follows protocol and orders to a T, sir."

"Oh yeah, then why didn't you?"

"Sawyer locked it up. There's no key. I'm sure he has it, Mr. Grey."

I throw a palm to my forehead and wipe it slowly down my face. As if to erase everything in front of me.

"Okay," I breath out, dragging my lip down to what feels like my ankles and eventually the pit of hell. "We just have to wait for Sawyer to get back. That won't be forever, right?"

"Forty-five minutes, maybe."

Fuck.

"Well that's... manageable in some universe. Labor can go on for awhile."

And as if this universe wants to remind me that I have no control over anything in any universe anymore, I see Yankee Doodle Dandy running my way. Only it's not Mr. Doodle Dandy himself, it's Ray.

"Christian!" he calls out as he approaches, waving his arms. He stops in front of me, completely out of breath. "Annie's doing it."

"Doing it? Doing what?"

"Having..." Gasp. "The..." Gasp. "Babies." Gasp. Gasp.

"I know this. We're still working on things. It'll all be fine. We'll get her to the hospital—"

"No, I mean now. Your mother says she's at eight, almost nine centimeters."

"My mother's drunk!"

"She's not joking."

"Neither am I. She's really drunk!"

"No, Annie's definitely having contractions fast and hard now. She asked me to get you."

He doesn't have to utter another word. My girl needs me...

"Ana!" I call out as I take off running for the bedroom and again as I round through the door and to the bed to get to her.

"Oh Christian!" she says, out of breath and sweaty, as I climb up onto the bed and hold her.

"She's going to be ready soon," Grace says.

"Okay, help is coming shortly." I stroke Ana's hair. "There's still time."

"No, there's not," Ana pants, shaking her head. "I don't think I could leave this room if I wanted to. This is happening and this is happening now." She cries out in pain again.

"Okay, baby." I struggle for breath. "I'll make sure it's okay."

Damn it.

"I'll do this!" I say.

"Do what?" Ana asks.

"I'm delivering our boys." I stand and take my jacket off and throw it on the chair. It lights up. I was right my sleeve is blown. "What do we do? Boil some water?"

"Christian, I can do it," Grace says. "It may not be my expertise, but I am a doctor."

"Mother, I love you and you are an excellent physician, but there is no way, no how, under any set of circumstances my children will be delivered by anyone who spent the afternoon at the Bloody Mary bar."

"I'm sober now."

"Mother, I'm serious. I won't risk it. You can give me directions."

"Oh I feel terrible I drank," she says.

"Me, too," Carla says. Yeah right.

"Don't worry, you couldn't have known hell would descend upon us."

Maybe Tilly put a curse on us for changing her play! No, she said she's not eating again, so she's under the curse deep, too.

Ana cries out again and I give her my hand to squeeze. I'm terrified. What if what happened when she had Teddy happens here and we can't get her to the ER in time?

I can't think like that. I have to stay focused.

"What first?" I ask.

"We need towels," Grace says. "And some supplies. You have a first aid kit?"

"A kit? It's more like a first aid studio apartment. It's in a closet off the kitchen."

"Good, Ray will you help Carla and I gather everything?"

"Right away," he says and they leave.

"Boil some water, Taylor!"

"What for, sir?"

"I don't know. But, it's what's done!"

"Right away, sir. How much?"

"I don't know. Enough to do whatever we have to do with it with."

We both try and process what I just said.

"Yes, sir. I'll get it."

"And don't use the pot Mrs. Norman had her head in!" I call out after him before he shuts the door.

"Ana, baby, everything is going to be okay," I say.

"Mother fucking double cock up the ass shit wiper!" Ana calls out as she clutches her belly.

Yeah, the boys are almost here.

I sit by Ana on the bed and dial up Dr. Greene.

"I've been waiting at the hospital for over two hours," she says.

"You're longest shift to date," I mutter. "We're still stuck out here. She's having the babies now."

"How do you know?"

Ana cries out again and clamps down on my knee. Well, forget golf for awhile—or walking.

"Trust me, I know." I try to pry her fingers off me before I lose all circulation and my lower leg has to be amputated. Thankfully for us both, her pain subsides. "My mother said she was almost nine centimeters."

"Look again," she says.

"I never looked before."

"Oh God!" Ana cries.

"I'll instruct you. Prop her knees up and get between them."

I lift up the covers preparing the take Ana's sweats off when I see she's already naked down below. I gasp. Taylor was in here while she was exposed under the comforter!

"What am I looking for?" I ask as my mother and Carla and Ray come back.

"We have supplies," Grace says and starts unloading.

"Do you have a sterile medical glove?" Dr. Greene asks.

"Do we have a sterile medical glove?" I call out.

"Yes, here," Ray says and hands me box of a hundred. I had these in my closet?

"Okay, I just put it on." I straighten and snap the fingers.

"What are you doing with it?" Grace asks.

"What am I doing with it?" I ask Dr. Greene.

"Checking her dilation," she says.

"Checking her dilation," I repeat to my mother.

"I can do that," Grace says.

"Mom, it's fine. I'm wearing the glove." My attention back to Dr. Greene. "Now what?"

"Ahhhhhhh!" Ana screams out. "I have to push."

"No! Not yet, baby. I need to do something with the glove first." Back to Greene. "What do I do?"

"Do you have a lubricant?"

"Yes, in the side drawer. I think it's pineapple, but it won't eat away at latex."

"Medical lube, Mr. Grey."

"Oh, right. 'Mom, do we have any lube?" I can't believe I just asked my mother that question.

"I microwaved a bowl of water!" Taylor says as he rushes to set it on the table.

"What's that for?" my mother asks.

"I don't have a clue," Taylor says.

"I found the sanitized lube!" Carla says and gives me a squirt and I squish it all around my hand.

"Now, using your fingers push inside of her all the way up."

"How far up and how many fingers?"

"You should be able to fit them all."

"You mean you want me to fist her?" I say under my breath, since Ray is right there. I guess he'd be okay witnessing this as opposed to when we did it last time in Fiji.

"Not exactly, but it is effectively the same hand positioning," Dr. Greene says. "Go all the way until you feel where her cervix is. It should be at the end of—"

"Trust me, I know where her cervix is." Ray gives me a look. "I mean, I've seen pictures."

"Good," Dr. Greene says. "Go for it."

I put the phone on speaker and set it on the edge of the bed.

I look around. "Taylor, get on this side of the sheet, please." I point to the corner of the room by the nightstand.

"Yes, sir." He moves to where there's no view of Ana's lower regions.

I can't remember a time more oddly uncomfortable than me sticking my hand up my wife's vagina while her father and mother, my mother and my driver watch.

"What do you feel?" Dr. Greene asks.

"There's no cervix. It's wide open. But, I feel... It's strange." I move my fingers around and there's something firm. "There's some sort of large obstruction. Like a large domed mass with a fleshy covering."

Oh God, it's cancer!

"That, Mr. Grey, would be your son's head," Dr. Greene says.

I pull back and out fast. "Oh my God, it's his head!"

"Oh Christian! They're coming!" my mother squeals and everyone gets excited.

"I need to push," Ana says, throwing her head back in agony against the pillow.

"Can she push?"

"She can push," Dr. Greene says.

"Okay baby, let's do this. Push!"

She pushes down so hard I fear I may need a catcher's mitt.

"You're doing great baby," I say as she pants and then pushes again.

"Oh God," she screams.

"I can see the head!" I say.

"I know you're doing great, Mrs. Grey," Dr. Greene says. "I want you to bear down like we did with Phoebe."

"I need Christian's hand," Ana says and I reach over to hold hers as she pushes down long and hard.

"That's it baby!" I say and let go just in time to see my son's little head come out. "Oh Ana, I see him. He's beautiful." I am absolutely in awe, but I have a job to do.

"Hold to him and have her push, then you gently pull," my mother says.

I cup him softly. "Okay, push!" She pushes, I pull and out comes the most glorious creature.

"It's a boy," I say as I hold him in my arms, stunned and awestruck.

"Oh Christian," Ana says, tearing up.

"Put him in the towel," my mother says and I see she's got it open in her arms. I lay him in it, she rubs his back and then I hear him cry.

"He's here. He's really here," I say. "He's magnificent."

"You did so good, Annie." Ray says and then turns to me and pats me on the back. "You, too!"

My mother and Carla are fawning all over him. Everyone is celebrating.

"You have another one!" Dr. Greene yells.

"Oh right!" I rush back to my place between Ana's legs as she starts panting and whimpering. This exact same scene played out in this room three weeks ago, but entirely different.

"Okay Ana, push," I say. Two more and I can see a head.

"I can't." She pants. "Let me rest. So tired."

"You're almost there, baby. You can do this. Stay with me and then you can rest." I reach around so she can take my hand again. "I love you so much. You're so strong, Mrs. Grey. Give me that big push."

She bears down again and out comes the crown. She screams as she's being stretched to the outer limits. Another push and I'm able to pull him out, too.

"We've got twin boys!" I say as our second little man squirms in my arms. Everyone cheers, and I place him in a fresh towel my mother is holding open. Soon I hear the tears of new life from both my boys. And there's new life being shed from my eyes as well.

#######

"They have the most beautiful ginger hair," Ana says as she brushes a soft lock on Baby #1 whom she's cradling in her arms. I'm holding Baby #2 as we both lie in the bed tucked together.

"It's the copper that's in mine." I touch his face. "But, they have their mommy's big blue eyes. "They're so perfect." I look to Ana. "You are so perfect." I kiss her, and I have so much love for her in this moment, the kiss deepens.

"Father here in the room," Ray says, laughing. He effectively breaks us apart. I forgot we were being watched.

"Oh Christian, Ana, I'm so proud," my mother says.

"They're little angels," Carla says.

Bob, my dad and grandparents have joined us now.

"You got two little redheads, Christian! They're going to be the death of you!" my grandfather says.

"I know this already. But, it's okay, as I'm dead twice before."

"Good news, sir," Taylor says, getting off his phone. "The medics should be here shortly."

"Now, they come." I shake my head. "Hey, I just thought of something. I didn't think it was possible for her to be even more lazy and greedy, but Dr. Greene actually phoned in a childbirth today for top dollar."

"Stop!" Ana laughs.

"Wait, I just thought of something else! What time were they born?! I didn't look." Ten minutes in and I've already fucked up documentation for their entire lives.

"8:21 and 8:26 pm," Taylor says. "I took notes and recorded everything on my phone."

"You're a lifesaver, Taylor!"

"I know, sir." He grins.

"Oh, and you can come out of the corner now."

"Thank you, sir." He steps away from the night stand.

"Elliot, Kate and Mia are feeling a bit better," Carrick says. "Thankfully it was a quick one."

"Poor Jose," Bob says. "I guess he really went to town on the bluefin tuna. He's still hacking up."

"And he couldn't take pictures of the babies, what a shame," Grace says.

"Yeah, what a shame." I smile.

"I have two special visitors," Gail says as she opens the door and Phoebe and Teddy rush in.

"We'll give you all a moment alone and check on the others," Grace says and they all step out.

"Come here and meet your brothers," Ana says and the kids run to us.

"Careful," I say as they climb up. "You must be gentle with them and with Mommy."

"My brothers have hair that was dipped in strawberries," Phoebe says. "It's the most beautifulest hair I ever saw."

"Was I that small? " Teddy asks as he tucks into me and looks at his new brother.

"It's hard to believe, but yes." I kiss his head.

"Me, too?" Phoebe asks as she mimics Ana by gently petting the baby's hair.

"Yes, the tiniest angel." I smile. "You know, we never had our baby naming family meeting." They came too fast.

"Your father and I each picked a name and agreed on them. But, we need to hear your choices for the middle names," Ana says.

"I was gonna have the names of Bluebird or Diamond, but I changed it now that they have the prettiest hair."

"Okay..." I say.

"I want this brother..." She points to the one whose hair she's petting. "I want him to be called Strawberry or Carrot."

Ana and I both look at her and then to each other. That won't give him a complex or anything. I have to put on my best fatherly thinking cap to get out of this one. I mean, Bluebird and Diamond would at least ensure him a singing career.

"You know Grandpa's name is Carrick," I say. "Which in some translations is Carrot." Ana giggles. "And he'd love it if his favorite granddaughter picked his name."

"What about Ava?" Ana whispers to me. "She's his granddaughter, too."

"Trust me, Phoebe's the favorite."

"Yay, I choose Grandpa Carrot!" Phoebe says.

"Then it's settled," I say. "Middle name is Carrick known as Carrot."

I do have mad fathering skills.

"What about you Teddy?" Ana asks.

I've been preparing for Stan. A newer one he was throwing around was Lyle. Does he secretly hang out with a fraternity of plumbers I don't know about?

"Well, I was gonna pick Al," he says. "But, then I thought I could call it after a really great guy that I know."

"Who's that?" I ask.

"Taylor," he says.

"Taylor?" I ask and he nods. "Why Taylor?"

"He's like our Uncle and your best friend."

"My best friend? Well, I'm not sure he's my _best_ friend..." I mean we do spend all our time together, but I don't guard his body and I always sit in the back seat.

"Teddy, that is so sweet," Ana says. "I love it!"

"Me, too!" Phoebe says.

"Yes, that is a very thoughtful idea," I say. "But, I'm not sure—" Ana cuts me a look. "Fine, it'll be Taylor."

The kids cheer. I hope Taylor doesn't get all soft when he finds out. I fear I'll never be able to deflate his head after this.

"I got their crowns!" Phoebe says and pulls out two tiny soft glitter crowns from her sweater pocket.

"Where's Chester?" I ask.

"Watching TV," she says.

"Oh, right."

"Okay, let's do the ceremonial naming of the new princes," Ana says.

"Wait, Ana. You have the athlete. I have the poet."

"What does that mean?"

"Their personalities. You give the baby in your arms my name I chose and I'll give this one yours." I chose a more athletic first name, Ana went the English Literature route.

"How do you know which one has which personality?"

"Trust me, after all my early morning talks with them, I know."

She's confused, but smiles and goes with it.

"Ok, this new baby boy in my arms will forever be known as Archer Carrick Grey, Archie for short," Ana says. I actually chose Archer because it sounded strong. Ana likes to add cute nicknames.

"Prince Archie Carrot!" Phoebe says and Ana helps her gently lay the crown on his head.

"And this little guy will forever be known as Oliver Taylor Grey, Olly for short," I say.

"Prince Olly Taylor!" Phoebe says and I help her lay the crown on his head.

"I think we need to capture this moment," I say and grab my phone to take a picture of my big, beautiful family. "Lean in close and say Chester." Phoebe giggles as we say his name and I snap a few shots.

They're a bit blurred, the kids squirm all over and one baby is crying. Ana's hushing him and I look like I've been through a windstorm that slammed me against a wall. This is my life and it's perfect.

"Look Daddy," Phoebe says, pointing to my phone and the last picture I took. "That's our family!"

"Yes Princess, it certainly is." I smile. And I never stop.

 ** _There's more to this when they introduce the babies to the family, and they go home. But, they are finally born! :) xox_**


	21. Twas the Night Before Christmas

**_This is just a little literary (belated) Christmas card to all of you who have supported all my stories and my writing throughout the year. I appreciate and love you guys so much! Merry Christmas! I promise more fun things to come._**

 ** _This hops ahead a few months, but don't worry, I'll go back to the story as we left it in the last chapter again._**

 _"'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house..."_ I read to my family from the fine aged parchment of a leather-bound first edition. The fire is going. A featherlight snow falls outside. And Ana and all four children lie tucked around me on our big, floppy couch. Matching snow people pajamas and cocoa and blankets abound, as they listen to me recite this Ye Olde Christmas tale under the sparkling lights and baubles from our towering evergreen boughs.

 _"Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse..."_

Well, maybe one errant rodent...

Like a playhouse lead on cue, Chester—in his sock footed Grinch print onesie and long candy cane striped silk sleeping hat, pops his head out of Phoebe's front pocket, just sniffing for mischief. After a yawn, he looks left and then right and then left again, before he spots his next prey. Like a flash, he scampers off of her shoulder, flies to the cushions, and then scurries to the coffee table to take down the succulent grab—the red discarded bow tie of a gingerbread man.

 _"The stockings were hung by the chimney with care..."_

I glance up at the roaring fireplace and the names of the most important people in the world all stitched in script on the dangling knit socks. There's Teddy's blue and Phoebe's sparkle pink, with little Archie and Olly's red and green check brand new to the mix. Taylor and Gail have gained place up there, too. As have Chester and Boone —or should I say Liberace's more flamboyant rodent brother and The Bachelor of The Barn? And then there's Ana's and mine at the center of the glowing hearth. Mama and Papa and their babies beside. Every year, when I look at this glorious Christmas born scene, I pose the same question. Each time with a little more wonder and a lot more awe.

How did I end up with a mantle so full?

I do notice the toe of my sock has casually crossed over Ana's and I can't help but smile. Even my stocking can't keep away from hers.

 _"In hopes the Saint Nicholas soon would be here..."_

"Is he almost here, Daddy?" Phoebe asks, looking up at me with a smile just like Ana's and eyes like my own. But hers are filled with a kind of magic and wonder that I never knew existed until I knew her mother. They hold the kind of faith that has no second thoughts, no crossed fingers and toes. That believe because believing is all that they've ever known.

"He'll be here soon," I say and then kiss her head as she tucks into me close.

 _"The children were nestled all snug in their beds..."_

I look down at my Olly, who's nestled snug across my chest. He has the littlest button nose and pink pouty lips. And there's the softest curl of strawberry hair peeking out from under his winter blue striped baby hat. I then look to Ana, who holds our other small son. Archie coos and smiles in his dreams as he sleeps safely held in his mother's arms. It's hard to believe we didn't know these little wonders last year. Now, I can't remember life without double onesies and double socks and taking quadruple the time to get from this point to that. I don't remember a time before we were six. Or when we were just two. Or a time, so long ago now, when I thought that forever I'd be just one.

 _"As visions of sugarplums danced in their heads..."_

"What's a sugarplum?" Teddy asks.

"It's when you wash off the plum and keep it all wet and then roll it in sugar," Phoebe says.

Well...

"We'll go with that," I say and Ana giggles.

" _And_ _mama_ _in_ _her_ _kerchief_..." I look to Ana and smile. Lord, is she heavenly in the light of the fire right now, rocking our baby boy. The flush in her cheeks and the sparkle in her blues. There is nothing more beautiful than her as a mother. The best gift I ever received was her tumble through my door.

 _"And I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter's nap..."_

"Why is he taking a nap if he's going to sleep?" Teddy asks.

"Because he was so excited for Santa to come that he couldn't sleep all the way through," Ana says. She's always so good with the quick answers.

"Me, too! Me, too!" Phoebe says. "I could just nap t'night so I don't miss the good stuff." She's been insistent for weeks that she'll be awake to see Santa Claus. But even as she says it she produces the biggest yawn.

 _"When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash. Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash."_

Talk about throwing up a sash—Chester's now scampered on top of the packages. I see the flurry of his scurry amidst the gold ribbons and candy cane bows. A blur of pajama clad rodent wherever he goes.

 _"The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below..."_

"The moon has boobs," Teddy says and he and Phoebe laugh.

"It's not boobs..." I say. "It's the breast of..." They continue to laugh. "Never mind." I shake my head. I'm not getting into moon boobs tonight. I swear, he sounds just like Elliot.

 _"When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer..."_

"Rudolph!" Phoebe yells out, arms up, Frosty slippered feet out. She sprung forth so excitedly, I'm surprised the babies didn't wake.

 _"With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick..."_

I'm anticipating the kids excitement for the arrival of Santa Claus to the poem, but all I'm met with is blank stares.

"Who's Nick?" Teddy asks.

"Santa Claus," I say.

"Why is he called Nick, then?" Teddy asks.

"Because that's his real name," I say.

"I thought it was Santa," Teddy says.

"It is... but before he was Santa Claus he was Nicholas." I think.

"But they said on my one show his name was Kris Kringle 'fore he was famous," Phoebe says, scrunching her nose up just like Ana does when I'm especially full of shit. "And he had strawberry hair like my baby brothers and he had brothers, too, who was Ringle and Tingle and Dingle and Wingle and Zingle. And Miss Jessica is his wife, and she was the teacher and they got married in front of all the cutest animals."

What the hell kind of Christmas show was she watching?

"Oh yes, that's right. He goes by a few names," I say. Hell, I forgot Santa went by so many aliases. I won't even get into Father Christmas or Papa Noël.

"I'll bet he's really a cool super spy!" Teddy says. "'Cause he goes all over the world, sneaks into bazillions of people's houses only after they go to sleep, and you can only see him when he's at the mall."

I'm not sure what mall outings have to do with super spy activities, but he seems convinced.

"Yeah," Phoebe adds. "And he knows everything you do. Like when you throw paper at boys and if you sleep for real or just pretend shut your eyes at your naps, or if you eat all the veggies on your plate or just hide them under your taters. And he makes lists about it. And if you're bad you get a bag of rocks." She thinks about it. "And not the good kinds of ones."

"He's not a spy," I say, but they certainly gave me something to think about. He is kind of stalkerish about eating and sleeping and secretly obtaining information about people. And he has a strict list of rules to obey. But, he means well, brings a lot of gifts and he can fly...

Hey wait, he's basically me.

Mind blown.

I am Santa Claus.

Well, if he had a trainer.

"Santa is a very important man," Ana says. "And important people have a lot of different names. Like your father is Daddy to you and Christian to me and then he's also Mr. Grey." She gives me a subtle wink and a light nibble of her plump plum lip.

Wow, what was that about? Maybe I could be Mr. Grey for her later. Or Santa Claus, as we now know we're practically one in the same. Except he only comes once a year.

I think the real spy in the room is Chester, now standing on his hind legs, eating a piece of popcorn he's nabbed off a string from the tree. He's trying to act casual, but I see him swaying from foot to foot, attempting to sneak a peek at his packages. The little rat knows he has a Versace leather bomber jacket coming—in bubblegum pink—and Dolce and Gabbana suede pants with the boots to match.

I feel the kids are getting lost in the semantics of this poem. I need to make it more exciting, more theatrical, more magical, so I attempt to amp up my performance, without waking the babies of course. The last thing we need at the moment is a screaming set of twins bringing down this Christmas Eve show.

 _"More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN! on, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONNER and BLITZEN! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"_

"Where's Rudolph?" Phoebe asks, popping up, alarmed that a terrible tragedy has occurred. "They could crash without his nose."

"No, it was only gonna crash that one time 'cause it was the foggiest night ever," Teddy says. "That only happened once before, like with the dinosaurs, Santa said."

He did? I don't remember that show, either. Maybe that was on A Flintstone Christmas.

"This poem was before Rudolph was even born," I say.

"Oh yeah, that's when his daddy Blitzen was still doing all the big flying," Phoebe says and then sits back, tucking tightly under my shoulder again.

 _"As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too."_

I envision the faces of my children in the morning, bounding down the staircase and racing into the den. It's my favorite scene. They'll rip off the paper and wear the discarded ribbons and bows. There will be an explosion of Christmas and in its aftermath they'll fall fast asleep, holding dolls and trucks, wearing smiles and cookie crumbs as they dream. I'll sit here, right on this couch, snuggling with Ana, as we gaze out onto the happy mess in our happy home. And I'll make sure none of it gets cleaned up too fast.

 _"And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound."_

"We have to put out the fire," Teddy says, pointing to the fireplace. "Santa will get his butt burnt."

"And Rudolph!" Phoebe says.

"No one will get butt burnt on Christmas. I'll put it out as soon as you're in bed."

"Dad said butt burnt," Teddy says and the kids laugh. I think even a sleeping Olly cracked a smile.

"Could we open the barn, 'cuz maybe Rudolph and the other flying deers would like to have cookies and tea with Boone," she says. "He likes out of town visitors."

"I'll have Taylor unlock it and keep watch." I say.

Crap, I better remind Taylor to leave evidence that Rudolph was out there. If I know my Phoebe, she'll be searching for hoof prints and half eaten cookies first thing.

But what kind of teacup does a reindeer use?

 _"He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; a bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes - how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!_ _His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow..."_

"He sounds so beautiful," Phoebe says.

"Boys aren't beautiful," Teddy says.

"They are if they're Santa!" she says in reply.

 _"The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath..."_

Santa's a smoker?

 _"He had a broad face and a little round belly, that shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself."_

"He's not an elf, he's a Santa," Teddy says.

"Uh huh, the Kringles took him as a baby and they was all elves, so he was kinda an elf, 'cause they were brothers," Phoebe says. "But you shouldn't laugh at elves."

"Fair point well made, Miss Grey," I say to her and then smile at Ana.

 _"A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, and laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose."_

Okay, here's the climactic end. I clear my throat to ready my voice. Make it exciting, Grey. Infuse it with the spirit of the season. Make this a denouement to the famed Christmas poem that the kids will never forget.

 _"He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight:_

 _HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!_

I look up from the book, anticipating Teddy and Phoebe's beaming faces, eyes lit with excitement for Santa Claus and all that's to come on this eve night ahead. Instead, I find my two snowman slippered Christmas angels fast asleep. Each of my shoulders, a pillow for their heads.

"That was beautiful, Daddy," Ana says as Archie coos.

"They didn't hear the ending," I whisper to her.

"I have a feeling they'll remember this night for the rest of their lives," Ana says, leaning down to kiss Archie's soft little head. "Well, half of them will anyway." She smiles, and then reaches over to brush Olly's pink cheek.

"I think you remember first Christmases," I say and she gives me a quizzical look. "It's when your eyes are first opening to the world. It means something that someone tried to fill it with magic."

She smiles, a little teary, as she strokes my stubbled cheek. "You give us magic everyday."

"Back at you." I smile, looking down at my children covering me, and then again to my stunning wife. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Grey."

"Merry Christmas, Santa Claus," she says. There is no mistletoe, but she still gifts me a kiss, before resting her head right next to Phoebe's on my shoulder. When I look down just a few moments later, I see she's fast asleep, too.

Chester, with a belly to rival Old Saint Nick or Kris Kringle or whoever his sleigh driving license says he is at the moment, rejoins the family fold. Back in Phoebe's pocket, he finds slumber with the rest of the house. I shake my head. He sure is a little shit, but he's our very own.

As I sit fixed beneath the pile of my family, I don't sleep. Like Phoebe said, I don't want to miss the good stuff. I look out at the tree and the fire and the presents beneath. The house that we built and the home that we keep. I know I should wake everyone and get them up into bed, but I don't just yet. It's Christmas and this is the only gift I want. And I want to enjoy it for just a little bit more.


	22. Dear Santa

_**This is a little story I wasn't expecting to finish, but here it is. A little late, but hope you enjoy! xox**_

 _ **And Nani, the suit is special for you:)**_

 _ **Happy 2018!**_

Every year, there's that first turn from fall to winter. When pumpkin everything and hayrides and turkeys made out of handprints on paper plates, make way for gingerbread and candy canes and sleigh rides on freshly fallen snow. But it's not the ringing of bells or the first carols sung—or even that demonic shelf elf I have to hide all over the house—that says Christmas is nigh. No, it's the moment little hands grab markers and write letters on Dad's office stationery to an old bearded man north of civilization, who wears a red fur suit, enslaves an entire race of little people to make his toys (without real pay or benefits, but probably housing and cocoa) and makes reindeer fly his fat ass all over the world to deliver them.

And we're meeting him today.

"Christian, please don't antagonize Santa this year," Ana whispers up to me as we stand in line with all four children at, of all ungodly places, the mall.

It's a higher end shopping plaza with decent decorations and, from what I can see up ahead, a Santa who doesn't need padding and is jolly enough that only half the kids come away crying like they've witnessed a murder.

But it's still a mall.

"I never antagonize Santa," I say and she gives me a look. "What? He was completely out of line last year." Imagine him telling my daughter she couldn't have something.

"What about the year before that?" Ana asks as we watch Phoebe and Teddy chase each other around, singing about how Batman smells and their teacher is laying eggs to the tune of _Jingle Bells_ that's playing on loop over the sound system. It's their perineal favorite and my perennial headache.

"He had a real beard. He was obviously a pedophile," I say. No one grows something out that long unless he's deviantly planning for children to sit on his lap all year and pull it.

Ana rolls her eyes as she tends to a fussy Olly in the double stroller. Archie is smiling at his big sister in the front seat, as she's stopped her singing, and is now rolling his hair around and around her finger.

"What are you doing?" I ask Phoebe.

"I'm making Carrot's strawberry patches curl up for the picture," she says. His strawberry patches being his ginger locks. I've tried to dissuade her from calling her red headed brothers Berry and Carrot, but so far it isn't working, and I think the nicknames may stick for life.

This is the twins first Christmas, I marvel, as I look down at their little faces. I want to make it perfect for them—for all my children. But there's something about first Christmases. Everyone says you can't remember them, so they don't really matter, but I highly disagree. It's that celebration when you're small that seeps into your being. It sets you forth on the journey to who you're going to be and how you're going to believe. Whether you'll see the world as a happy place, where dreams can be reality, or one filled with disappointment. It's when you start to believe that miracles can come true. Or that they don't. I want their first memories of the happiest time of year to be magical. I want them to always believe.

But I don't think the magic starts outside the food court at the Westside Pavilion.

"Why do we have to wait in this line?" I ask Ana as a couple hundred kids around me scream and sing and basically ruin my life. "I could have arranged for us to get straight to the front." Or better yet, out the back. I could have Taylor don a beard. He'd be a good Santa. Sure, he's not jolly, he looks like a marginally groomed gorilla and he can't carry a tune to a Christmas carol to save his life, but he knows where you are at all times, what you want and pops out mysteriously in the night to deliver things.

"We're teaching the kids that to have something special takes patience and effort," Ana says, rocking little Olly.

"Why are we teaching them that?" I ask.

This sloppy kid in front of me, wearing a sweatshirt with a picture of Santa in sunglasses that says: _I Do It For The Ho's_ , sneezes into his sleeve. And I don't mean a cute little achoo. No, this is the kind of sneeze where the snot stretches and slides onto the red cotton. In slow terrorizing motion. And then once you think it's done, he takes another wipe. It's like a snot filled trilogy.

Oh god.

I immediately grab the hand sanitizer from the baby bag and squirt it in the kids' palms.

"Dad, Fritzy says Santa comes twice at his mom's house," Teddy tells me as he squishes the antibacterial blob between his fingers.

"So does the cable guy," I mutter and Ana nudges me to stop. "Tell Fritzy that Santa is a close personal friend of mine. He comes double that to our house." I squirt some sanitizer in Ana's hands, too, before giving my own a rub down. No one questions why I'm doing this, as it's a regular occurrence. I'm like the unpaid ad man for Purrell.

It's so hot in this mall, I have to pull at my collar. I guess they're not worried about their heating bill. Of course, I am wearing a full wool bright green double breasted suit with notable Christmas items embroidered throughout—and the matching puppies in Santa hats tie. Why, some may ask? Because my daughter drew up the design and said it would be perfect to meet Santa Claus and take the family picture in. I sent it to Versace and here we go. The bells of Saint Mary's are ringing off my sleeves. Literally.

The whole family is matching today—all three boys in Christmas check vests and bow ties; Phoebe and Ana in English red coats; but it's Dad that looks the most festively demonstrative. I've garnered looks all day, and probably a few paparazzi photo grabs, but I don't care what people think. Phoebe loves it, so I'm happy. Fuck the haters.

"How does Santa visit everyone all over the world to sit on his lap all at once?" Teddy asks as he chomps down on this reindeer chow that Gail made. It's cereal, powdered sugar and a ton of chocolate all shaken up in a plastic ziplock bag. It's basically rocket fuel for hyperactivity.

"Well, he has magical powers," I say. "And his reindeer fly him around."

"Like Charlie Tango?" he asks.

"Yes, like that, but different aerodynamics."

"How come the reindeers aren't here?" Phoebe asks.

"Well, because they're in the barn."

"Where's the barn?"

"At the North Pole."

"But they have to fly him 'round." She scratches her head. "How do they get back here to get him to take him to the other malls all over the world in time?"

"They fly very fast," I say.

Speaking of flying fast, I'm watching Teddy's jaws around that reindeer chow. And he's got powdered sugar all over his pants. It's like he got caught in the clap of two erasers.

"Let's save some for later," I say as I take the bag from him, with some protest, and throw it in the baby bag. I then pull out some wipes to clean him down.

"How come I can't eat anymore?" he asks as I clean him off.

"Because I don't want you so fueled up you'll launch to space," I say.

"But that would be so cool!" he says.

Suddenly, there's a swell of cheering coming from the crowd. They've seen something—or rather someone. I first think it's Santa Claus, but he's still up ahead.

"Dad, look, it's Ginger Jack!" Teddy says, pointing excitedly in the distance.

"Ginger Jack!" Phoebe squeals. "I can't believe I ever lived so long to see him in real life."

"Ginger Jack?" I ask, standing again, trying to see what they're looking at.

It's this guy in a rather poorly constructed gingerbread man costume who keeps hopping up and down the aisles, asking people if they're excited, and throwing packaged gingerbread cookies at them. He's so amped up about everything, it's like a lightning rod is using his asshole as a garage. I want to motion to Taylor, who is diligently guarding us by the ropes, to accost him if he throws anything this way, but the kids seem to love this weirdo.

"Who is that?" I ask Ana. And why don't I know about him? I know all the kids' favorite characters. Ask me to sing Frozen and I'll do it forwards, backwards and without syllables.

"He does commercials for Daggman's Department Store during their afternoon cartoons," Ana says. "Before you get home from work. He's quite the local celebrity." She giggles, enjoying the kids' excitement. Why, even the babies are bouncing for this loony toons in a cookie getup.

Of course, we're right outside of Daggman's. I should've recognized the canine perfume aisle and cheap polyester. I know Henry Daggman. What a loser. Of course his two bit department store would try to rape the public with a half cracked cookie.

"What time is it kids?" Ginger Jack yells out.

"Cookie time!" they all respond and throw their arms out to emulate this dance number he's doing. I know it's supposed to be a gingerbread man who has no knees or elbows to bend, but it looks more like a kid in a triple thick snowsuit that can't move his limbs, trying to get to the bathroom before he pisses himself.

 _They watch this everyday after school?_

"He's going away!" Phoebe says as he waves his big iced felt paw, high-fiving random kids on his retreat.

"Oh, he'll be back, trust me," I say. If only to make my life miserable.

"I want an autograph," Teddy says.

"Me, too!" Phoebe says. "But what if he's just too big a star?"

 _This idiot?_

No one is too a big of a star for my kids. Not even the sun.

"Trust me, you want autographs, you'll get autographs," I say.

I straighten the collar of Phoebe's red peacoat that's all ruffled up at back, wondering how it got so messed up just standing here, when I notice movement. Then, suddenly, black eyes meet gray in a standoff until one enemy strikes.

"Owe!" I pull back my finger after the rodent bites. "Phoebe, you brought Chester?"

"Yes," she says as the little shit jumps up on her shoulder. He's wearing a suit identical to mine—bells and all. Only, somehow, he looks more manly in it. Maybe it's my blood in his teeth.

"Why did you do that?" I ask her as I suck my finger.

"He needs to ask Santy for presents, too." She shrugs.

"What does he want this year?" I ask.

"A rainbow feather coat and a daisy hat," she says. "Some boy perfume that smells like boy flowers and a new Audi."

"What's wrong with his last R8?"

"He's too fat for the seat," she says. "The wheel pushes on his belly and then makes him fart."

Chester sputters some obscenities my way and then crawls back in her jacket. And I'm left pondering what boy perfume with boy flowers smells like—and Chester's fat car farts.

"Uncle Taylor what are you asking Santa for for Christmas?" Teddy asks him.

He thinks about it for a moment, looking off into the mall lights and low hanging fake wreaths, like he's dreaming the impossible dream, and then cuts his eyes back down to Teddy again. "Spark plugs," he states matter-of-factly.

Taylor and his car parts.

This heavy-set woman, who has a felt Christmas tree stuck on her sweater and a necklace of incessantly blinking tree lights, keeps looking back at me and smiling like she's a cat who may want to eat my canary.

Actually, I think she's admiring my suit.

"Merry Christmas," I finally say, in a fuck off manner, when I feel like she's undressing me in her mind to see if I'm wearing Christmas boxers that match my jacket.

"I know who you are." She grins and those damn lights blink. When she brushes some of that overly-permed mop of her hair back, I see she's got a matching set on her earlobes. She's the living embodiment of an ugly Christmas sweater party.

"I don't think so." I look away. This woman could only be more annoying if she was Tilly. I have to do a double take to make sure she's not.

"The security around you..." She motions to Taylor, and Sawyer in the distance, who's suspiciously eying every patron as they enter the line. "You have the lovely wife and kids, your expensive suit."

I knew she liked the suit.

"I won't alert the crowd," she says, motioning to the throngs of bystanders who are stilling looking for the cookie man, "but I just want to tell you, my entire lawn furniture business runs on Windows." She winks, as if the secret is safe with us.

 _Windows?_

Oh hell, she thinks I'm Bill Gates. Why do people always think that? I could bench press that little shit at the gym. His specs only come up to my pecs.

"Mom, when do we get to go to the Hot Dog on a Stick?" Snot Nosed Kid asks as he turns back to her. Of course that child is her offering to society.

The lights dim. At first, I fear we're having a power outage. I'm about to get the family to run when I hear the music start. Drums and a jingle dance beat. An amateur fog machine. The kids all rhythmically applauding like they know what's about to happen.

Oh fuck.

"Ginger Jack! Ginger Jack!" my kids start chanting, along with the others in line, when he appears again, this time out of a red and green smoke, accompanied by five girls in matching female equivalent cookie costumes, under strobe lights.

"What is going on?" I ask the kids.

"It's Ginger Jack and the Snaps!" Teddy says.

"He's gonna sing _The Christmas Cookie Carol!_ " Phoebe says.

Oh my god, he's going to sing and dance. My worst nightmare is coming true.

All the kids cheer for him, even my baby twin sons, like he's some sort of rock star, as he sings this repetitive jingle about being a cookie on a plate for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. How this is his life's goal or something—to be the gingerbread cookie sacrificed to the big man for the best night of the year. I can't even understand half of what he's saying. It's all drowned out by this blaring music coming from old speakers that sound like people have kicked them, and all the kids singing along. The only good thing about this mess is that they stopped playing _Jingle Bells._

I have to say it, Tilly puts on a better production than this.

When he finishes, everyone cheers, especially me.

"Taylor," I nudge him. "Get his attention and bring him over." I may think he's a disaster, but my kids want to meet him. And when they want something, I make it happen.

"Yes, sir." Taylor says, then rushes up to him.

They exchange a few words. Ginger Jack waves an iced paw and backs away, like he's leaving to go back stage again. Taylor looks pissed. Not taking no for an answer, Taylor grabs him by the cookie arm.

Oh fuck.

Ginger Jack fights him to get away and there are gasps from the crowd as Taylor tries to wrestle him down.

"Christian, what is he doing with Ginger Jack?" Ana asks.

"Getting me some autographs," I say.

Finally, the scuffle subsides and Taylor manages to drag him my way.

I feel like I'm in a twisted holiday themed mafia movie all of a sudden.

"I'm so sorry to surprise you like that," I say to Ginger Jack as Taylor brings him over, like a war criminal. "Taylor, it's fine." I hold up a hand. "I'll handle it from here."

"Yes, sir." He backs away but keeps his eye trained on the cookie clown.

"What do you want from me?" he asks, shaking.

"We just wanted to meet you," I say. "My son and daughter would like a picture and an autograph." I motion down to Teddy and Phoebe who are jumping up and down with excitement.

"Well, we don't take personal shots in line—" he says, straightening himself, and I slip him a quick fifty. It's difficult, as he doesn't have fingers, but he bends his paw and grabs it. "Except for very special little cookies! What item shall I sign?" He points to one of the Ginger Snap Girls over his shoulder, who's pushing this enormous cart of his merchandise.

I just gave him a fifty! He wants me to buy something additional now?

This place really has a racket going. Not only do these photos with Santa cost half of the every man's paycheck, they're selling t-shirts, sports bottles and all sorts of other paraphernalia with that Cookie Sack Jack's face on it. He's even got an apron that says: Kiss The Kooky Cookie. What a fucking nightmare.

"What do you kids want?" I ask them.

"I want the inflatable Cookie Kingdom!" Teddy says.

"I want the Cookie Bake Oven!" Phoebe says. "With the add-on fudge factory."

Even Chester sticks his head out, eyeing that Twelve Days of Christmas Cookies set-up.

"Fine, we'll take those and t-shirts for the whole family for you to sign," I say.

"Oh splendid!" he says, doing his cookie jig now. When money talks, he walks.

"Uh, I think we'll just take the t-shirts," Ana says, giving me the eye.

"Ahh, Mom," Teddy says. "Cookie Kingdom has the battle of the pretzels in it." Whatever that means.

"And mine is the oven that bakes Christmas cookies!" Phoebe says. "How will we make them for Santy?"

"Yeah, we have to have cookies on Christmas Eve for Santa," I say to Ana. "Didn't you listen to the song?"

"We're teaching the kids about patience and effort, remember?" she whispers. No patience for my efforts.

"Fine," I say and then turn back to Ginger Jack. "We'll just take the t-shirts now." Ana smiles, but when she looks away to tend to the babies, I whisper to the cookie man, "Wrap up the rest for later." I slip him another fifty and my Amex to swipe.

Hey, that's teaching them patience. They have to wait an entire afternoon.

After getting photos and iced paw prints stamped on shirts—and what feels like nine years and a hole dug to China—we finally make it to the front.

I watch as these two elves escort Sweater Mother and her snot nosed disgrace up to Santa.

Of course Sweater Mother takes another nine years trying to pick out how many pictures she wants of her little snot head, who is currently asking Santa for some sort of an assault rifle. From the looks of this kid, I don't think it's a toy. How big is he, anyway? What is he, thirteen going on twenty-four?

"What package do you want?" one of the elves shouts at me, holding an iPad. I give him a look.

"All of it," I say.

"All of what?"

"All of it." I motion to the billboard with all the package listings for photos.

"We have choices," he says. "You gotta make choices."

"We all do," I say and give his elf getup the once over. "Some make better ones than others."

"Christian!" Ana whisper yells at me.

"What? We're discussing photographs?" I try to give her a who, me? look, but she knows who the hell I am and I'm lucky she married me anyway.

"What's the best value?" Ana asks him, trying to smooth over our conversation.

The best value? We're worth over twenty-five billion now and she wants the value pack? Of course, that's one thing I love about her, this never changes. She still clips coupons on Sundays and saves pennies in jars to stick through the Coin Star machine. I had to draw the line when she wanted the babies to wear Teddy's hand-me-downs. In my house, nobody wears anyone else's clothes.

Chester concurs.

"Let's just get the one with the most pictures," I say.

"One per kid or the four together?" the elf asks. This little shit is impatient. You'd think working at the Santa Claus set-up, you'd be required to have a jolly air.

"Separately and together," I say. "The whole family wants one as well." I give him a look and he gives me one in return. "Why do you think I'm in this suit?"

"I'm not here judging your personal life, I'm here to serve Santa. And Santa doesn't take photo requests from adults." I pull out another fifty and push it into his hand. "Usually." He folds the bill up and stuffs it in his leather side pouch. "But this can be an exception." These cronies can so easily be bought off. That's why my pockets are constantly stuffed with bribing cash.

"Santa!" the kids say, rushing up to jolly old man as we all take the stage. Jesus, the lights are blaring up here. I almost feel like I've died and I'm crossing the throne to judgement. I just never thought it would be made of Christmas candy.

"Ho ho ho!" Santa says. "What adorable children we have here." He looks up at me and then to Ana. "These five must give you some trouble." He laughs and winks at her.

 _Winks?!_

Wait, _five_? Did Santa just throw me some serious shade?

"Oh, they certainly are a handful, but I love them," Ana says with a smile and then looks up at me. She's teasing—and now giggling with this Mall St. Nick! I may have to find a fun way to punish her for this Santa flirtation later.

"Let's get this started," I say. "We've all been waiting a long time." I thought the kids would be entering college by the time we got up here.

"Ladies first," Santa says as he pats his lap. And, if I'm not mistaken, he's looking at Ana. That Fucker Claus. Thankfully, Phoebe barrels toward him, flies onto his lap and half knees him in the gut.

That's my girl.

"I want a new eco-to-logically sound dollhouse with a salt water pool and the prettiest garden that I could plant real flowers in and the veggies I don't ick at," she says, trying her best with the bigger words. I'm so proud—ecologically sound. "And I want new princess dresses for all my dolls and unicorns, and a real pony..."

"Wait, now. That's a lot of stuff for a little girl," he says and I give him the eye. These fucking Santas are always trying to downsize dreams.

"How about we see what the elves can work up?" Santa says to her and then motions for the photo to be taken.

"Wait, Chester needs new clothes that I made a list of." She pulls it out from her pocket and hands it to him. "And his car is too skinny for him this year. He has to let Barbie drive it now and he sits in the trunk where his belly sticks out to get air."

"Is Chester your brother?" Santa asks, looking at the long list, and then up at Teddy.

"No, he's my hamster and best friend." She thinks about it. "But sometimes he's my Daddy's brother. When we have tea parties. 'Cuz they're both princes." She's right, Chester and I have an ever evolving family tree and royal lineage.

"Oh that's nice, but are you sure he likes to wear all these clothes?" Santa asks.

Like a Liberace on cue, Chester pops his head out, all decked out in his suit, and Santa nearly loses his shit.

"Oh my!" he says with the fright of the demons in his eyes. It's a designer clothed hamster, calm down.

"This is Chester," Phoebe says as he scampers down her arm and into her hand. "And Chester, this is Santa Claus." Chester mutters something in rat speak. Santa looks like he's currently taking a rough shit, looking at that rodent.

"Picture!" one of the elves yells and they immediately take the shot. Phoebe's smiling, Santa's eyes are bugged, and Chester's on his hind legs, giving the camera a flash. His shirt is untucked and he's showing his hairy belly as he waves his hands around. He looks like my brother at our wedding trying to catch the garter.

"Next!" the elf yells.

"It's your turn, Teddy," Ana says, and he runs up.

"And what do you want little boy?" Santa says to Teddy, once he's sitting on his knee.

"I want a submarine and a rocket," Teddy says. He keeps swinging his legs, kicking Santa in the shins. I can't say I'm not amused by this.

"Oh, a toy submarine. That's a wonderful idea," Santa says. "If you stop kicking Santa, you may just get it." Santa's savage.

Teddy stops. "No, a real one!"

"A real submarine?" Santa asks and Teddy nods. "Oh, I don't think that's possible—"

"Don't worry, Santa's got it covered," I say to Teddy and then glare at Santa.

"Christian, please don't start anything," Ana says.

"I'm not. I just want Santa to know what he's giving them."

"Picture!" the elf yells and snaps one off.

The babies start fussing as soon as we pick them up for their stroller and they're really wailing when we put them on Santa's lap. I was afraid of this. Teddy hated Santa until like two years ago. Baby Phoebe pulled his beard off. It wasn't until they fully understood that he gave gifts that they were open minded to this situation.

I'm still not open minded to it. I'll never be comfortable with my kids sitting on an old man's lap for presents. I have to have two eyes glued on the fucker at all times.

"Let's just hurry this along so we can get a picture," I say as Archie spits up all over my sleeve. The bells are more than ringing now. They're dripping with mashed peas.

"Okay, lets all get into the positions we rehearsed," I say as I stand in the back next to Ana. Phoebe and Teddy file in, one on each side.

"Picture," the elf yells out and we all straighten as he leans in to press the button.

This is going to be my most prized possession. A photo of my family—my wife and four babies—all together at Christmas, in matching outfits.

"Chester!" Phoebe yells, and before I can stop the flash, I see the little rodent jump and take a dive right onto Santa's head.

Santa screams. The babies wail. Phoebe grabs for Chester, who jumps off of Santa, and starts high tailing it across the candy cane village to the food court. Teddy chases after them both, because he's a tornado chaser.

"Kids!" I yell as Taylor and I take off after them. And just as we race down the stairs to the floor of the mall, just out front of Santa's village, the lights go down again and the red and green fog appears.

Oh shit.

Ginger Jack starts his song as we stand paralyzed at center stage.

This is why I hate the fucking mall.

#######

"Santa looks like someone grabbed him by the nut sack," I say to Ana as I look through all of the seventy-two copies of the pictures we purchased, as we cuddle on the couch in our den. We have every size and paper holiday frame. We even have a Christmas tree ornament. It's more like Halloween terror from the look on Santa's face, but still.

"The kids all look so cute," Ana says, pointing to one.

"Cute?" I say. "The babies are screaming, Phoebe's diving toward Chester and Teddy's a blur." That little shit Chester. I had to convince the mall cops that he wasn't vermin, so they wouldn't call out the exterminator before we got to him. Of course, he had a designer suit on, which helped his case. Not many rats hang around the sewer in Versace. Well, maybe Hollywood, but not Seattle. We ended up finding him at the Cinnabon.

"You're very tense after today," she says as she squeezes my neck and then my shoulders.

"I really am," I say. "But, I think I know what could relieve some of my holiday tension. A round of this." I give her a light smack on the side of her ass.

"You're punishing me? For what?" She nibbles her lip. She loves it.

"Flirting with Santa Claus."

"Flirting with Santa Claus?" She scrunches her nose.

"I think your fraternization deserves a few good spanks."

She giggles. "Maybe so, Mr. Grey." She grins as I lean in to kiss her.

"I'm just glad we're home and I'm away from all those screaming kids and that music," I murmur against her lips. "That Christmas Cookie Carol is a fucking nightmare."

"Well, we've seen Santa, so I don't think you'll have to hear that song again."

"Hey, Dad, Mom, it's time for our show!" Teddy says as he and Phoebe race to the TV to turn it on. Ana and I pull apart.

"What show?" I ask, but before he responds I have my answer.

The drums. That blaring jingle beat. The red and green smoke.

Oh hell.

"It's Cookie Time!" Phoebe says, throwing her arms up.

"You were saying, Mrs. Grey?" I look to Ana, who laughs.

"Maybe just one more time," she says and kisses my cheek.

Yep, Ginger Jack is going to haunt me all season long.


End file.
